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ALONE, 


BY     MARION     HARLAND, 

OF  RICHMOND,   VIRGINIA. 


"Through  long,  long  years,  to  seek,  to  strive,  to  ye 
For  human  love,— and  never  quench  that  thirst ; 
To  pour  the  soul  out  winning  no  return— 
O'er  fragile  idols,  by  delusions  nursed,— 
On  things  that  fail  us,  reed  by  reed,  to  lean, 
To  mourn  the  changed,  the  far-away,  the  dead, 
To  send  our  troubled  spirits  through  the  unseen 
Intensely  questioning  for  treasures  fled." 


NINETEENTH  THOUSAND. 


.JEW  YORK :    . 
J.  C.  DERBY,,  119    NASSAU    STREET. 

BOSTON:— PHILLIPS,   SAMPSON   &   CO. 
£INCINXATI  : — H.   W.   DERBY". 

1856. 


ESTKRKD  Recording  lo  Act  of  Congreu,  in  the  year  1854,  by 

A.   MORRIS, 
b  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Di.trict  Court  of  the  United  Stat*.,  for  the  Extern  Di»trict  of  Virginia. 


DEDICATION. 


ratf 


IT  ia  meet  that  those  whose  sympathy  has  been  dew  and  sunshine  to  the 
nursery  plant,  should  watch  over  its  transplantation  into  the  public  garden. 
And  as  this  Dedication  is  the  only  portion  of  the  book  which  is  new  to  you, 
you  do  not  require  that  it  should  remind  you  of  the  welcome  stormy  evenings, 
when  I  laid  down  my  pen,  to  read  to  you  the  chapters  written  since  our  last 
"select  party ;" how  the  fictitious  names  of  my  real  characters  were  house- 
hold words  to  our  trio  :  and  your  flattering  interest — grateful  because  sincere 
— stimulated  my  flagging  spirits  in  the  performance  of  my  task.  You  know, 
too,  what  many  may  not  believe — with  what  misgivings  it  was  entered  upon, 
and  prosecuted ;  what  fears  of  the  licensed  critic's  ban,  and  the  «?ilicensed 
public's  sneer  j — above  all,  you  comprehend  the  motive  that  held  me  to  the 
work — an  earnest  desire  to  contribute  my  mite  for  the  promotion  of  the 
happiness  and  usefulness  of  my  kind.  Coming  as  it  does  from  my  heart — penned 
under  the  shadow  of  our  home-altar,  I  cannot  but  feel  that  the  mission  of  my 
offering  is  to  the  hearts  of  others, — ask  for  it  no  higher  place  than  the  fireside 
circle.  Readers  and  judges  like  yourselves,  I  may  not,  do  not  hope  to  findj 
but  I  trust  there  are  those  who  will  pardon  the  lack  of  artistic  skill  in  the 
plot,  or  the  deficiency  of  stirring  incident,  in  consideration  of  the  fact,  that 
my  story  is  what  it  purports  to  be,  a  simple  tale  of  life — common  joy  and 
sorrow,  whose  merits,  if  it  has  any,  consist  in  its  truthfulness  to  Nature, 
and  the  fervent  spirit  which  animated  its  narration. 

MARION  HARLAND. 


Richmond,  l 


631083 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE  Sermon  was  over  ;  the  funeral  psalm  chanted  brokenly, 
by  reason  of  quick-drawn  sobs,  and  bursts  of  tender  remem- 
brance; the  heart's  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  departed. 
"  The  services  will  be  concluded  at  the  grave,"  pronounced  the 
clergyman  in  an  unwilling  voice ;  and  a  shuddering  awe  fell, 
as  it  ever  does,  upon  all.  "  The  Grave  !"  Even  in  the  presence 
of  the  sheeted  dead,  listening  to  the  rehearsal  of  excellences 
lost  to  earth, — set  as  living  stars  in  a  firmament  of  unchanging 
splendor ; — we  cannot  comprehend  the  dread  reality  of  bereave- 
ment. Earth  smiles  the  same ;  familiar  faces  surround  us  ; 
and  if  the  absence  of  one  is  painfully  noted,  the  soul  would 
fain  delude  itself  with  the  belief 'that  his  departure  is  not 
forever; — "  he  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth.'*  But  «  the  Grave  1" 
These  two  words  convey  an  irrevocable  sentence.  We  feel  for 
the  first  time  the  extent  of  the  'gulf  that  separates  us  from  the 
clay,  beloved,  although  inanimate ; — the  dissevering  of  every 
bond  of  companionship.  For  us  the  earth  has,  as  before,  its 
griefs,  its  joys  and  'its  duties ; — for  the  dear  one — but  a  grave  ! 
The  story  of  "a  life  is  ended  there.  The  bearers  advanced  and 
'took  up  the. coffin.  They  were  no  hired  officials,  performing 
their  work  with  ill-concealed  indifference,  or  faces  robed  in 
borrowed  lugubriousness ;  but  old  family  servants,  who  had 
sported  with  the  deceased  in  infancy ;  faithfully  served  her  in 
later  years,  and  had  now  solicited  and  obtained  this  mournful 
privilege.  Tears  coursed  down  their  dusky  cheeks  as  they 
lifted  their  burden  and  bore  it  forth  from  the  portal  which 
seemed  to  grow  darker,  as  she,  the  light  of  the  dwelling,  quitted 
it,  to  return  no  more.  They  wound  through  the  flowery  labyrinth 
whose  mazes  were  her  care  and  delight.  The  dews  of  evening 
1*  (5) 


6  ALONE. 

were  beginning  to  descend  upon  the  thirsting  petals,  and  in  the 
breezeless  air  hung,  in  an  almost  visible  cloud,  the  grateful 
return  of  spicy  and  languishing  odors.  A  tall  rose  tree  drooped 
over  the  path,  and  as  the  bearers  brushed  by  its  stem,  a  shower, 
like  perfumed  snow-flakes,  lay .  upon  the  pall.  The  end  of  the 
journey  was- reached  j  a  secluded  and  beautiful  spot  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  garden,  where  were  many  mounds  clustered  together 
— graves  of  a  household.  A  weeping  willow,  years  before,  a 
little  shoot,  planted  by  the  hand  of  the  wife  to  mark  her 
husband's  resting-place,  now  grown  into  a  stately  tree,  swept  its 
feathery  pendants  above  her  pillow.  The  cords  were  lashed 
around  the  coffin,  and  the  word  given  to  lower  it  into  the  pit ; 
when — with  a  shriek  that  chilled  the  blood  of  the  bystanders — 
a  slight  figure  darted  forward,  and  clasped  it  in  her  arms. 
"  Mother !  oh  mother !  come  back !"  Men  of  iron  nerve  bowed 
in  childlike  weakness,  and  wept,  as  this  desolate  cry  rent  the  air. 
She  spoke  not  another  word,  but  lay,  her  cheek  to  the .  cold 
wood,  enclosing  the  colder  form,  and  her  fingers  interlocked  in  a 
vice-like  grasp.  "  Ida  !  my  child  I"  said  the  old  minister, 
bending  to  raise  her ;  "  She  is  not  here.  She  is  with  her  God. 
Can  you  wish  her.  again  upon  this  sinful  earth  1"  His  consola- 
tion was  addressed  to  an  ear  as  dull  as  that  of  the  corpse.  In 
that  outburst  of  frenzied  supplication,  consciousness  had  left  her. 
"  It  is  best  so  I"  said  the  venerable  man.  "  She  could  not  have 
borne  it  else.' 

The  ceremony  was  concluded  — "  dust  to  dust — ashes  to 
ashes  •" — and  the  crowd  turned  sorrowfully  away.  It  was  not 
in  pity  for  the  orphan  alone.  There  were  none  there  who  could 
not  recount  some  deed  of  love  or  charity  done  by  her,  whom 
they  had  given  to  the  earth.  Since  the  deaths  of  a  fondly  loved 
partner  and  three  sweet  children,  Mrs.  Ross  had  sought  balm 
for  her  wounds,  by  binding  up  those  of  others.  Environed  by 
neighbours,  whose  position  and  means  were  more  humble  than 
her  own,  she  had  ample  exercise  for  her  active  benevolence ; — 
benevolence  evincing  itself, — not  in  studied  graciousness  and 
lavish  almsgiving,  but  in  kindly  sympathy,  and  those  name- 
less offices  of  friendship,  so  easily  rendered,  so  dear  to  the  reci- 
pient. «  Her  children  shall  rise  up  and  call  her  blessed,"  was 
the  text  of  her  funeral  discourse,  and  the  pastor  but  uttered  the 


ALONE.  7 

feelings  of  his  auditory,  when  he  called  the  community  in  which 
her  blameless  life  had  been  passed,  her  family — loving  her,  and 
through  her,  united  together  in  bonds  of  fraternal  affection.  In 
this  genial  clime,  had  Ida  Koss  been  nurtured ; — beloved  for  her 
mother's  sake,  as  for  the  warm  impulses  of  her  generous  nature ; 
petted  and  indulged;  yet  obeying  the  least  expression  of  her 
parent's  wishes,  not  in -slavish  fear,  but^a  devotion  amounting  to 
worship.  She  had  no  companions  of  her  own  age  who  were  her 
equals  in  education  or  refinement,  and  from  intimate  connection 
with  vulgarity  she  shrank  instinctively.  Her  pride  was  not 
offensively  displayed.  No  one  could  live  in  the  sphere  of  which 
Mrs.  Koss  was  the  ruling  power  and  feel  aught  like  supercilious- 
ness or  contempt  of  inferiors.  From  infancy,  Ida  was  her  mo- 
ther's companion;  at  an  early  age  her  confidante'and  co-adviser; 
had  read  her  pure  heart  as  a  richly  illuminated  missal,  from 
which  self-examination  and  severe  criticism  had  expunged  what- 
ever could  sully  or.  disfigure.  Can  we  marvel  that  she  shrined 
her  in  her  heart  of  hearts  as  ateing  moro  than  human — scarcely 
less  than  divine  ? 

That  mysterious  Providence  who  guides  the  fowler's  messen- 
ger of  death  to  the  breast  of  the  parent  bird,  leaving  the  callow 
nestling  to  perish  with  hunger,  recalled  the  mother's  spirit  ere 
her  labor  of  love  was  completed.  Ida  was  an  orphan  in  her  fif- 
teenth year ; — the  age  of  all  others  when  a  mother's  counsels  are 
needed; — when  the  child  stands  tremblingly  upon  the  thres- 
hold of  girlhood,  and  looks  with  wondering,  wistful  eyes  into  the 
rosy  vista  opened  to  her  sight.  Babes  in  knowledge,  nine  girls 
out  of  ten  are  grown  in  heart  at  fifteen.  A  stroke,  whether  of 
extraordinary  joy  or  sorrow,  will  oftentimes  demolish  the  gew- 
gaws of  the  child,  and  reveal  instead,  the  patient  endurance,  the 
steady  faith,  the  all-absorbing  love  of  a  woman.  A  week  had 
passed — a  week  devoted  by  the  bereaved  to  thoughts  of,  and 
weepings  for  the  lost,  by  others  to  preparations  for  her  residence 
among  strangers.  Years  might  elapse  before  her  return.  That 
night,  as  stealthily  as  though  seeking  a  forbidden  spot,  she  trod 
the  path  to  her  mother's  grave.  It  was  clear  starlight,  and  she 
Bat  down  beside  the  newly  sodded  mound,  and  rested  her  brow 
upon  it.  Cold — cold  and  hard  !  but  it  entombed  her  mother ; — 
aye  !  and  her  heart !  for  what  had  she  to  love  now  ?  There  was 


8  ALONE. 

no  loving  breast  to  receive  that  aching  head ; — no  solace  for  the 
wounded  spirit.  The  dew-gems  lay  freshly  upon  the  grass ; — 
for  her  the  dewiness  of  life  was  gone ; — earth  was  one  vast  sepul- 
chre. She  looked  up  to  the  stars.  In  the  summer  evenings  her 
mother's  chair  used  to  stand  in  the  piazza,  and  she  sat  at  her 
feet,  her  eyes  fixed  alternately  upon  her  angelic  face,  and  the 
shining  orbs  above  them.  Mrs.  Ross  loved  to  think  of  them  as 
the  abodes  of  the  blest ;  the  ^mansions  prepared  for  those  who 
had  sojourned  in  this  sin -stained  world  and  yet  worn  their  white 
robes  unblemished;  and  the  theory  was  confidently  adopted  by 
the  imaginative  child.  She  drank  in  descriptions  of  the  glories 
of  those  celestial  regions  until  her  straining  eyes  seemed  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  a  seraph's  glittering  robe,  and  she  leaned  breath- 
lessly forward  to  hear  the  music  of  his  golden  harp.  But  to- 
night the  sparkling  smiles  of  those  effulgent  ones,  "  forever  sing- 
ing as  they  shine,"  were  changed  to  pitying  regards  as  they 
beheld  her  so  sad  and  lonely; — the  gleam  of  the  seraph's  wings 
was  dimmed  j  his  far-off  melody  plaintive  and  low,  and  the  bur- 
den of  his  song  was  "  alone."  •  The  wind  waved  the  willow- 
boughs,  and  a  whispering  ran  through  the  leaves — "  Alone — 
alone !"  The  words  were  so  audibly  breathed  that  the  girl 
started  in  her  delirious  sorrow,  and  gazed  wildly  around.  "  Oh 
mother  !  cannot  you  leave  Heaven  for  one  short  minute  to  com- 
fort your  child?  "Who  will  love  her  now?  Alone,  all  alone  1 
mother !  dear  mother 1" 


ALONE. 


CHAPTER    II 

Two  persons  sat  in  the  parlor  of  a  handsome  house  situated 
in  a  pleasant  street  of  the  capital  of  our  Old  Dominion.  The 
afternoon  of  a  summer's  day  was  deepening  into  twilight,  but  the 
waning  light  sufficed  to  show  the  features  of  the  occupants. 
There  was  no  hazard  in  pronouncing  them  father  and  daughter. 
The  square  forehead,  indicative  rather  of  keenness  of  perception 
and  shrewd  sense,  than  high  intellectual  faculties ;  the  full,  grey 
eye ;  flexible  lips,  and  heavily  moulded  chin  were  the  same  in 
both,  although  softened  in  the  younger,  until  her  face  might 
have  been  deemed  pretty,  had  the  observer  omitted  to  remark  an 
occasional  steel-like  spark,  struck  from  the  clear  eyes,  and  a  com- 
pression of  the  mouth,  betokening  a  sleeping  demon  whom  it 
would  be  dangerous  to  arouse  from  his  lair.  A  turbulent  light 
flashed  there  now.  She  had  thrown  herself  into  the  corner  of  a 
sofa,  after  many  restless  wanderings  through  the  apartment,  and  the 
shapely  foot,  oscillating  rapidly,  beat  with  its  toe,  a  tattoo  agitato 
upon  the  floor.  Her  father  was  immersed  in  thought  or  apathy. 
She  repeated  a  question  in  a  voice  which  savored  of  peevishness, 
before  he  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  watch-key,  the  twirling  of 
which  had  been  his  occupation  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  "At 
what  hour  will  your  ward  arrive,  sir  ?" 

"  She  must  be  here  in  a  short  time.  They  have  travelled 
slowly.  The  journey  might  have  been  accomplished  as  well  in 
one  day,  as  two." 

"  You  said  her  escort  was  a  clergyman,  I  think.  Gentlemen 
of  the  cloth  are  not  famous  for  inconveniencing  themselves  to 
gratify  others,"  responded  the  young  lady.  "  They  inveigh 
against  the  emptiness  and  vanity  of  dublunary  things ;  yet  I 
know  no  class  of  men  who  enjoy  'creature  comforts'  more." 

"  Confounded  humbugs  !"  was  the  rejoinder,  and  a  muttered 
something  about  "  priest-craft "  and  "  blind  leaders  of  the  blind  " 
finished  the  sentence  so  charitably  begun. 

Another   pause  was  ended  by  the  daughter.     "Miss  Ross' 


10  ALONE. 

father  was  an  early  friend  of  yours, — a  college  chum, — was  he 
not  ?" 

"  He  was, — and  a  clever  fellow  into  the  bargain  ;"  said  her 
father,  with  a  touch  of  feeling  in  his  tone.  "  At  his  death,  he 
left  to  me  the  management  of  his  child's  property, — (a  snug 
operation  I  have  made  of  it,  too  !)  In  the  event  of  the  mother's 
decease,  I  was  appointed  sole  guardian,  an  office  for  which,  it 
must  be  said,  I  have  little  partiality.  If  Mrs.  Ross  had  given 
her  up  to  me  ten  years  ago,  I  might  have  made  something  of  her; 
but  she  said  a  mother  was  the  proper  guide  for  her  daughter. 
Women  are  wonderfully  self-sufficient, — always  undertaking  what 
it  would  puzzle  sensible  men  to  do,  and  perfectly  satisfied  with 
the  style  in  which  it  is  done."  If  there  was  any  meaning  in  the 
severity  of  this  remark,  the  face  and  voice  of  the  listener 
betrayed  no  consciousness. 

"How  old  is  Miss  Ross?" 

"What  is  your  age?"  and  seeing  her  hesitate — "What  does 
the  Family  Bible  say  ?  I  want  no  school-girl  airs." 

"  I  am  fifteen  sir,"  raising  her  eyes  coolly  to  his. 

"  And  she  is  two  months  younger.  A  pretty  time  I  sh  ill 
have  for  six  years ;  unless  she  takes  it  into  her  head  to  marry 
before  she  is  of  age.  Very  probably  she  will ;  for  her  fortune, 
although  small,  is  large  enough  to  attract  some  fool,  too  lazy  to 
work,  and  too  ambitious  to  remain  poor." 

"Is  she  pretty?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  I  only  saw  her  at  her  mother's 
funeral,  where  she  got  up  quite  a  scene — fainting  and  such  like. 
I  came  away  the  next  day,  and  she  was  still  too  unwell  to  leave 
her  room,  they  said." 

"  Romantically  inclined !  Pity  she  should  be  doomed  to 
uncongenial  associations  I" 

"  You  would  indeed  have  profited  little  by  my  instructions  if 
your  mind  were  infected  by  these  whimsies,"  said  her  parent, 
with  a  self-gratulatory  air.  "  I  pride  myself  upon  your 
superiority  to  the  generality  of  your  sex,  at  least,  in  this  re- 
spect"— 

"  There  is  a  carriage  at  the  door,"  interrupted  the  other,  in  an 
unvarying  tone,  and  without  changing  her  posture.  The  host 
met,  in  the  entry,  an  elderly  gentleman  and  a  young  girl,  whom 


ALONE.  11 

he  saluted  as  "Mr.  Hall"  and  "Miss  Boss,"  introducing  them 
to  "Miss  Read,  my  daughter."  Ida  glanced  timidly  into  the 
face  of  her  guardian,  and  then  hastily  scanned  that  of  his  daugh- 
ter. That  the  scrutiny  was  unsatisfactory,  was  to  be  read  in  the 
deeper  sadness  that  fell  over  her  countenance,  while  the  sinking 
lashes,  and  trembling  lip  showed«how  sharp  was  the  disappoint- 
ment. Youthful  and  inexperienced  as  she  was,  her  heart  told  her 
that  the  bruised  tendrils  which  had  been  torn  from  their  original 
support  could  never  learn  to  twine  around  these  gelid  statues. 

"  You  will  remain  to  tea,  Mr.  Hall,"  said  Mr.  Read,  as  the 
good  clergyman  arose. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir ;  but  our  journey  has  been  fatiguing  owing 
to  the  extreme  heat.  I  find  myself  in  need  of  rest, — and  my 
charge  here  requires  it  more  than  I  do." 

"  You  will  call  before  you  leave  the  city.  May  we  not  hope 
for  the  pleasure  of  your  company  to  dinner  to-morrow  ?" 

The  invitation  was  accepted ;  and  after  a  silent  pressure  of 
the  hand  from  Ida,  and  a  courtly  bow  from  father  and  daughter, 
Mr.  Hall  took  his  leave. 

"  Miss  Ross  would  perhaps  like  to  make  some  alteration  in 
her  dress,  Josephine,"  Mr.  Read  said;  his  manner  testifying 
how  necessary  he  esteemed  the  proposed  measure.  Miss  Read 
rang  for  a  light,  and  signified  to  Ida  that  she  was  ro-vly  to  show 
her  up  stairs.  Any  change  from  the  bleak  fornuuiiy  of  their 
presence  was  a  relief;  and  she  longed  to  be  alone,  if  but  for  half 
an  hour,  that  she  might  give  way  to  the  emotions  which  had 
been  rising  and  beating,  through  the  livelong  day,  choking  and 
blinding  her.  But  Miss  Read  summoned  a  servant,  whom  she 
ordered  to  wait  upon  Miss  Ross,  now  and  in  future ;  and  seated 
herself  in  a  rocking-chair  to  watch  the  progress  of  the  toilette. 
Mechanically  Ida  went  through  the  torture  of  dressing.  There 
are  times  when  it  is  such ; — when  the  manifold  details,  hereto- 
fore so  engaging,  are  to  the -preoccupied  and  suffering  mind, 
like  the  thorn  of  the  prickly-pear,  too  small  to  be  observed,  but 
pricking  burningly  in  every  fibre  and  pore.  It  was  a  woman — 
a  sister — a  girl  as  young  as  herself — perhaps  as  tender-hearted, 
who  sat  there.  Why  not,  with  the  unrepressed  sorrowfulness 
of  a  child,  bury  her  face  in  her  lap,  and  sob,  "  I  have  lost  my 
mother!"  to  be  fondled  and  comforted  into  composure?  It 


12  ALONE. 

would  be  sacrilege  to  ruffle  the  elegant  propriety  of  her  figure ; 
and  the  glassy  eyes  said,  by  their  tearless  stare, — "Between 
you  and  me  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixed!"  One  weakness  Ida 
could  not  overcome ;  the  repugnance  to  beholding  herself  in  her 
mourning  garments.  They  as  yet  reminded  her  too  vividly  of 
the  bier  and  the  pall.  She  averted  her  eyes,  as  she  stood  before 
the  mirror,  to  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  her  apparel.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  said  the  calm  voice  of  Josephine.  "  Your  collar 
is  all  awry.  Permit  me" —  Ida  submitted  in  silence,  while 
her  volunteer  assistant  unpinned,  and  re-arranged  the  crape 
folds,  but  as  she  gathered  them  under  the  mourning  brooch, 
a  tear,  large  and  pellucid,  dropped  upon  her  hand.  It  was  but 
a  drop  of  salt  water  to  Miss  Read,  and  she  wiped  it  off,  as  she 
asked  her  guest  "  to  walk  down  to  tea."  To  the  new-comer,  the 
palatable  food  was  as  the  apples  of  Sodom — bitter  ashes.  She 
could  not  swallow  or  speak.  Her  companions  ate  and  chatted 
with  great  gusto.  The  ill-humour  of  an  hour  since  had  passed 
away.  This  exemplary  daughter  was  her  father's  idol,  when 
contrasted  with  other,  and  less  favored  girls.  She  was  formed 
in  his  image,  and  when  the  plastic  mind  was  wax  to  receive,  and 
adamant  to  retain  impressions,  he  moulded  it  after  a  pattern  of 
his  own.  He  taught  her  deceit,  under  the  name  of  self-control; 
heartlessness,  he  called  prudence;  veiled  distrust  and  misan- 
thropy under  clear-sightedness  and  knowledge  of  human  nature. 
All  those  holy  and  beautiful  feelings  which  evidence  to  man  his 
kindred  to  his  Divine  model  and  Creator,  he  tossed  aside,  with 
the  sweeping  condemnation — "  romance  and  nonsense  I"  The 
crying  sin  was  to  be  "womanish;" — "woman"  and  "fool"  were 
synonymes,  used  indiscriminately  to  express  the  superlative  of 
ire-exciting  folly.  He  delighted  in  showing  things  as  they 
were.  Men  were  machines,  moved  by  secret  springs  of  policy 
and  knavery;  the  world  a  stage,  viewed  by  others  in  the  decep- 
tive glare  of  artificial  lights,  and  so  made  attractive.  He  had 
penetrated  into  the  mysteries  behind  the  curtain,  and  examined, 
in  the  unflattering  day,  the  clumsy  contrivances,  gaudy  daubing 
and  disgustful  hollowness  of  the  whole.  Fancy  and  the  pleasures 
of  imagination  were  empty,  bombastic  names;  he  would  have 
seen  in  Niagara  only  a  sizeable  fall,  and  "  calculated,"  amidst 
the  rushing  shout  of  its  mighty  waters,  as  to  the  number  of 


ALONE.  13 

cotton-mills  it  would  turn,  and  the  thousands  it  would  net  him, 
could  he  transport  it,  patent  right  secured,  to  Virginia.  He  tore 
the  cloud-covering  from  the  storm-god's  brow,  and  beheld  a  roar- 
ing, vaporing  giant,  whose  insane  attacks  might  be  warded  off 
by  philosophical  precautions,  and  discretion  in  the  disposition  of 
lightning  rods. 

The  party  returned  to  the  parlor.  "You  play,  I  presume, 
Miss  Ross?"  said  her  guardian.  Inexpressibly  hurt  by  this 
new  proof  of  insensibility  to  her  situation,  Ida  faltered  an 
excuse  of  fatigue  and  want  of  practice ;  and  with  a  very  per- 
ceptible shrug,  he  addressed  his  daughter.  "  What  apology 
have  you,  Josephine  ?"  She  replied  by  going  to  the  instrument, 
but  had  just  taken  her  seat,  when  the  door  opened  to  admit 
three  visitors — two  school-fellows  of  Miss  Head's,  and  their 
brother.  "  The  Misses  and  Mr.  Talbot"  were  presented  in  due 
form  to  the  stranger,  who  had  risen  to  leave  the  room.  Jose- 
phine saw  the  movement,  and  arrested  it  by  the  introduction. 
No  attention  was  paid  to  her;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  lively 
conversation,  she  seized  an  opportunity  to  speak  aside  to  Jose- 
phine. "  I  wish  to  retire,  if  you  please."  Josephine  started. 
If  not  so  measured,  the  tone  was  as  haughty  as  hers,  at. its 
proudest  pitch.  With  a  word  of  apology  to  her  guests,  she  led 
the  way  into  the  hall,  and  lighted  a  lamp.  Ida  took  it  from 
her.  «  I  will  go  up  without  you.  Good  night."  She  walked 
up  the  staircase  with  a  steady  step,  for  she  was. .followed  by  a 
gaze  of  wonderment  and  anger;  but  when  her  chamber  was 
gained,  she  sprang  through  the  door — locked  and  double  locked 
it,  and  dashed  herself  upon  the  floor.  A  hurricane  raged  within 
her — grief,  outraged  feeling  and  desperation.  The  grave  had 
gorged  her  past,  black  walls  of  ice  bounded  the  future.  Mean- 
while the  sound  of  jocund  voices  came  up  through  the  flooring; 
bursts  of  laughter ;  and  then  music ;  brilliant  waltzes  and  tri- 
umphant marches,  to  where  the  orphan  lay  sobbing,  not  weeping, 
with  hysterical  violence ;  her  hands  clenched  upon  her  temples, 
through  which  each  convulsion  sent  a  pang  that  forced  from  her 
a  moan  of  anguish. 

"  She  is  a  weak,  foolish  baby !  it  will  take  an  immensity  of 
schooling  to  make  her  endurable ;"  said  Mr.  Head,  when  the 
ic. 

2 


14  ALONE. 

"  She  has  temper  enough,  in  all  conscience  I"  rejoined  Jose- 
phine, and  she  related  the  scene  preceding  her  withdrawal. 

"Bad!  bad!"  ejaculated  the  senior,  with  a  solemn  shake  of 
the  head.  » I  admire  spirit  in  a  girl ;  but  a  woman  should  have 
no  temper  I" 


CHAPTEK    III. 

IN  a  crowded  school-room,  on  a  glorious  October  morning,  a 
student  was  penning,  with  slow  and  heavy  fingers,  an  Italian 
exercise.  A  physiognomist's  eye  would  have  wandered  with 
comparative  carelessness  over  the  faces, — so  various  in  feature 
and  character — by  which  she  was  surrounded,  and  found  m 
hers,  subject  for  curious  speculation;  wondering  at  the  contra- 
dictory evidence  her  countenance  and  form  gave  of  her  age ;  the 
one,  sombre  in  its  thoughtfulness,  its  dark  eyes  piercing  through 
his,  into  his  soul,  said  twenty — perhaps  thirty — the  lithe  figure 
and  rounded  limbs,  sixteen ;  but  most,  he  would  have  marvelled 
at  the  listlessness  of  her  attitude ;  the  lack  of  interest  in  her 
occupation  and  external  objects,  when  every  line,  in  brow,  eyes 
and  mouth,  bespoke  energy;  a  spirit  strong  to  do  or  dare;  and 
which,  when  in  arms,  would  achieve  its  purpose,  or  perish  in  the 
attempt.  The  hand  moved  more  and  more,  sluggishly,  and  the 
page  was  marred  by  blots  and  erasures.,  Thought  had  the 
crayon,  and  dark  were  the  shades  that  fell  upon  the  canvass. 
"  Seventeen  to-day  !  "Who  remembers  that  it  is  my  birth-day  ? 
There  are  none  here  to  know  or  care.  If  I  were  to  die  to-mor- 
row, there  is  not  a  creature  who  would  shed  a  tear  above  my 
corpse.  I  wish  I  could  die  !  They  say  such  thoughts  are 
sinful,  but  annihilation  is  preferable  to  an  aimless,  loveless 
existence.  Oh  !  this  intolerable  aching,  yearning  for  affection 
• — it  is  eating  into  my  soul !  gnawing,  insatiable  longing !  can 
I  not  quiet  you  for  an  instant  ?  I  have  intellect — genius — so 
says  the  world.  I  have  sacrificed  to  knowledge,  reason  and 
poesy; — praying,  first,  for  happiness,  then  comfort,  then  forget. 


ALONE.  15 

fulness — to  oast  myself  down,  the  same  heart-sick,  famished 
creature  !  Our  examination  was  an  imposing  affair.  The  elite 
of  intelligence  and  fashion  honored  us  with  their  presence.  The 
prizes  for  which  others  had  expended  sleepless  nights  and  toil- 
some days,  were  for  me,  who  had  scarcely  put  forth  an  effort ; 
and  as  the  music  swelled  out  to  celebrate  my  victory — blent 
with  the  applause  of  my  critics,  my  heart  beat !  I  had  not  felt 
it  before  for  a  long,  long  time, — and  as.  in  a  lightning  flash,  I 
saw  what  I  might — what  I  would  have  been,  had  the  sunshine 
of  love  been  continued  to  me.  But  the  pitchy  cloud  rolled  over 
the  dazzling  opening,  and  I  was  again  a  stranded  wreck  upon  a 
barren  shingle — the  wailing  monotone  of  the  deep  in  my  ear.  I 
read  to  them,  that  a  tile  was  once  cast  upon  an  acanthus  root, 
and  the  hardy  plant  thrust  its  arms  in  every  direction,  until 
they  felt  the  light,  then  coiled  in  spiral  waves,  to  convert  their 
oppressor  into  a  thing  of  beauty; — and  bade  them  recognize  in 
the  Corinthian  capital,  an  emblem  of  Truth,  which  had  in  all 
ages  owed  much  of  its  transcendent  loveliness  to  the  tyranny 
that  sought  to  stifle  its  growth ; — and  when  I  pointed  to  it  as  a 
type  of  our  national  freedom,  I  was  forced  to  stop, — for  snowy 
handkerchiefs  perfumed  the  air,  and  •  eager  hands  beat  a  rap- 
turous '  encore ;'  and  I  was  reading  a  written  lie !  for  my 
heart  was  dying — puny  and  faded — beneath  its  weight.  Intel- 
lect !  a  woman's  intellect !  I  had  rather  be  little  Fanny  Porter, 
with  her  silly,  sweet  face,  and  always  imperfect  lessons,  than 
what  I  am.  She  has  a  father,  mother,  brothers,  sisters,  who 
dote  upon  her.  Nourished  upon  fondness,  she  asks  love  of  all, 
and  never  in  vain.  If  I  could  dream  my  life  away,  I  should  be 
content.  I  love  to  lock  my  door  upon  the  real  world,  and  unbar 
the  portals  of  my  fairy  palace — my  thought-realm.  Those  long 
delicious  reveries  which  melt  so  sweetly  into  my  night-visions — 
and  the  blessed  rainy  days  spent  by  Josephine  in  worsted  work  ! 
Yet  all  this  is  injurious — I  am  enervating  my  mind — destroying 
every  faoulty  of  usefulness.  To  whom  can  I  be  useful !  '  Do 
your  duty  in  your  home' — said  the  sermon  last  Sabbath.  I 
have  no  home — no  friends — I  am  cut  off  from  my  species. 
Tired  of  the  world  at  seventeen !  weary  of  a  life  I  may  not 
end  !  Seventeen !  seventeen  !  would  it  were  seventy  or  seven  I 


16  ALONE. 

I  should  be  nearer  my  journey's  end — or  once  more  a  happy 
child,  nestling  in  my  mother's  bosom  1" 

"  Forgive  me/'  said  a  gentle  voice,  "  but  your  exercise  is  not 
finished,  and  it  is  near  Signer  Alboni's  hour."  The  speaker 
was  the  owner  of  the  adjoining  desk.  As  their  eyes  met,  hers 
beamed  with  sympathy  and  interest.  Ida  knew  nothing  of  the 
wretchedness  expressed  in  her  features,  but  she  felt  the  agony 
at  heart,  and  taken  unawares,  she  could  not  entirely  repress 
the  tide  that  sprang  to  her  lids  at  this  unexpected  kindness. 
Ashamed  of  what  she  had  been  "  schooled"  to  consider  a  weak- 
ness, she  lowered  her  head  over  her  writing,  until  the  long 
curls  hid  her  face.  "  Signer  Alboni,  young  ladies !"  called  out 
Mr.  Purcell,  the  principal  of  the  seminary.  Ida  surveyed  the 
unsightly  sheet  in  dismay,  but .  there  was  no  time  for  alteration, 
and  she  repaired  with  the  rest  to  the  recitation-room. 

Signor  Alboni  was  a  gaunt,  bilious-looking  Italian,  whom  a 
residence  of  ten  years  in  America  had  robbed  of  all  national  cha- 
racteristics, except  a  fiery  temper.  The  girls  feared  and  disliked 
him;  but  he  was  a  popular  and  efficient  teacher,  and  in  virtue 
of  these  considerations,  Mr.  Purcell  was  inclined  to  overlook 
minor  disadvantages.  Ellen  Morris,  whose  fun-making  propen- 
sities no  rules  or  presence  could  restrain,  soon  set  in  circulation 
a  whispered  report,  that  their  "amiable  professor  had  had  a 
severe  return  of  dyspeptic  symptoms  since  their  last  lesson;" — 
and  "  don't  you  think  he  has  a  queer  taste  ?  They  say  his  favor- 
ite drink  is  a  decoction  of  saffron,  spiced  with  copperas!  No 
wonder  he  looks  so  like  a  piece  of  new  nankeen."  Then  an 
impromptu  conundrum,  pencilled  upon  a  fly-leaf,  went  the  rounds 
of  the  class.  "  If  a  skeleton  were  asked  to  describe  his  sensa- 
tions in  one  word,  whose  name  would  he  pronounce  ?"  Black, 
brown  and  sunny  tresses  were  shaken,  and  smiling  mouths 
motioned, — "  We  give  it  up."  Ellen  scribbled  the  answer, — 
«  All-bone-I." 

It  is  a  singular  fact,  that  when  one  person  is  the  unconscious 
cause  of  amusement  to  others — although  ignorant  of  their  ridi- 
cule, he  often  experiences  an  odd  feeling  of  displeasure  with 
himself  and  the  whole  world, — a  sudden  fit  of  spleen,  venting 
itself  upon  those  who  richly  deserve  the  wrath,  which  in  his  sane 
moments,  he  acknowledges  was  unprovoked.  It  was  impossible 


ALONE.  17 

for  the  signer  to  observe  the  laughing  faces  that  sought  refuge 
behind  open  books  and  friendly  shoulders,  for  he  was  occupied  in 
the  examination  of  the  pile  of  manuscripts  laid  upon  his  desk, 
yet  his  brow  was  more  and  more  wrinkled  each  second,  and 
when  he  spoke,  his  tone  was,  as  Ellen  afterwards  described — 
"  as  musical  as  that  of  a  papa  lion,  administering  a  parental 
rebuke  to  his  refractory  offspring." 

"Miss  Porter!" 

Poor  Fanny's  eyes  started  from  their  sockets,  as  she  uttered  a 
feeble  response. 

"  Receive  your  exercise,"  tearing  it  in  half,  and  giving  her  the 
fragments.  "  Remain  after  school-hours,  and  re-write  it  j  also 
prepare  the  next  one  in  addition  to  your  lesson  for  to-morrow. 
Miss  Morris,  where  do  you  purchase  your  ink?" 

"  Of  Messrs.  Politeness,  Manners  &  Co.,"  she  retorted,  with 
an  innocent  smile.  "You  never  deal  there,  I  believe,  sir?" 

"Silence!"  vociferated  the  infuriated  foreigner.  "Rest  as- 
sured, Miss,  I  shall  report  your  impertinence  to  Mr.  Purcell. 
Miss  Carleton!"  and  Jda's  neighbour  replied.  "I  find  no  im- 
portant errors  in  your  theme,  but  your  chirography  lacks  dignity 
and  regularity." 

With  a  respectful  courtesy,  the  paper  and  hint  were  received ; 
and  if  a  smile  played  around  her  mouth,  as  she  contrasted  her 
delicate  characters  with  the  stiff,  upright  hand,  in  which  the 
corrections  were  made,  he  did  not  see  it. 

"  You  had  some  incontestable  reason  for  omitting  to  write, 
Miss  Ross,"  with  a  sardonic  grin;  "  into  its  nature  I  shall  not 
inquire,  but  plead  guilty  to  curiosity  to  know  the  name  of  the 
friend  who  did  your  work,  and  appended  your  name  to  his  or 
her  elegant  effort." 

Ida  was  not  of  a  disposition  to  brook  insolence,  and  she  an- 
swered with  spirit, — "  The  exercise  is  mine,  sir." 

"  By  right -of  possession,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  It  was  written  by  myself." 

"  Do  I  believe  you,  when  my  eyes  tell  me  this  is  neither  your 
hand-writing  or  style  ?  Who  was  your  accomplice  in  this  witty 
deception  ?" 

"  SIR  !" 

2* 


18  ALONE. 

"  Who  wrote  this  theme  ?"  he  thundered,  maddened  by  her 
contempt. 

« I  have  told  you — /  did.     No  one  else  has  seen  it." 

«  You  lie!" 

With  one  lightning  glance,  she  arose ;  but  he  placed  himself 
between  her  and  the  door. 

11  Let  me  pass  !"  she  ordered. 

"  Signer  Alboni !"  said  Miss  Carleton,  who  had  before  endea- 
vored to  make  herself  heard,  "I  can  certify  to  the  truth  of 
Miss  Koss'  statement.  I  saw  her  commence  and  complete  her 
manuscript." 

"Aha  !  yet  she  says  it  has  been  seen  only  by  herself.  You 
must  tutor  your  witnesses  more  carefully.  They  convict,  instead 
of  exculpate." 

"  If  you  hint  at  collusion  between  Miss  Koss  and  myself,  I 
can  say  that  we  never  exchanged  a  word  until  an  hour  since. 
My  desk  adjoins  hers ;  it  was  this  circumstance  which  furnished 
me  with  the  knowledge  of  her  morning's  occupation." 

"I  beg  you  will  not  subject  yourself  to  further  insult,  upon 
my  account,"  interrupted  Ida,  whose  figure  had  dilated  and 
heightened  during  the  colloquy; — then  to  him — «  Once  more  I 
command  you  to  stand  aside  !  If  you  do  not  obey,  I  shall  call 
Mr.  Purcell."  As  if  he  had  heard  the  threatened  appeal,  the 
principal  appeared  in  the  doorway,  in  blank  astonishment  at  the 
novel  aspect  of  affairs.  Alboni  commenced  a  hurried  jargon, 
inarticulate  through  haste  and  rage;  Ida  stood  with  folded  arms, 
her  countenance  settled  in  such  proud  scorn  as  Lucifer  wouIU  have 
envied  and  striven  to  imitate.  The  prudent  preceptor  perceived 
at  a  glance  the  danger  of  present  investigation ;  and  abruptly 
declaring  the  lesson  concluded,  appointed  an  hour  on  the  morrow 
for  a  hearing  of  the  case.  That  evening,  for.  the  first  time  in 
many  months,  Ida  voluntarily  sought  her  guardian's  presence. 
Josephine  was  in  her  room,  and  he  was  left  to  the  enjoyment  of 
solitude  and  the  newspaper.  He  arose  at  the  approach  of  his 
visitant,  and  offered  her  a  chair.  In.  these  little  matters  of 
etiquette,  he  was  particular  to  punctiliousness;  carrying  his 
business  habits  of  law  and  order  into  every  thing.  The  paper 
was  replaced  upon  the  stand ;  the  spectacles  wiped  and  returned 


ALONE.  19 

to  their  case ;  and  those  matter-of-fact  eyes  raised  \vith  an  inter- 
rogative look. 

"  You  have  been  informed  of  the  altercation  that  occurred  in 
the  Italian  class  to-day?"  Ida  said,  waiving  the  preliminary 
remarks. 

"  Josephine  mentioned  it." 

"  May  I  ask  what  was  her  version  of  it  ?" 

"  It  was  a  statement  of  facts." 

"  Doubtless.  Then,  sir,  you  are  aware  that  I  have  been  wan- 
tonly and  grossly  insulted  by  a  man  for  whom  I  have  no  respect; 
that  in  the  presence  of  the  entire  class,  I  was  forced  to  listen  to 
language,  which,  uttered  by  one  man  to  another,  would  be  met 
by  prompt  chastisement;  you  are  furthermore  advised  of  the 
fact  that  he,  whose  duty  it  is  to  protect  those  whom  he  instructs, 
instead  of  compelling  the  creature  to  apologize  upon  his  knees, 
<  postponed  inquiry  until  to-morrow.'  " 

"And  very  properly,  too." 

"  Unquestionably,  sir  I"  with  the  sarcastic  smile  which  accom- 
panied her  former  assent.  «  My  object  in  seeking  this  interview, 
is  to  request  your  attendance  upon  that  occasion.  I  shall  not 
be  present." 

«  And  why  not  ?" 

"  Because,  sir,  I  will  not  be  confronted  with  that  odious  rep- 
tile, and  give  my  testimony  in  his  hearing.  Judging  from  the 
past,  and  the  knowledge  of  mankind  I  have  acquired  under  your 
tuition,  nothing  that  I  can  say  will  avail  to  secure  me  justice. 
Mr.  Purcell  cannot  obtain  a  better  teacher,  and  it  is  as  politic  in 
Alboni  to  remain.  There  will  be  an  amicable  settlement ;  and 
my  word  will  be  a  knot  in  the  chain  of  satisfactory  evidence 
they  will  elicit.  The  young  ladies  will,  of  course,  side  with  '  the 
gentlemen.' " 

"But  why  am  I  to  be  there? — to  receive  Alboni's  apology?" 

"  I  want  none,  sir — I  will  hear  none.  I  have  been  called  a 
liar!  his  pitiful  life  could  not  expiate  the  offence  !" 

"  You  are  savage,  young  lady !  you  wish,  perhaps,  that  I 
should  pistol  him." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  recalling  by  your  ridicule,  the  remem- 
brance that  this  is  a  business  interview.  "What  I  ask  is  this  : — 


20  ALONE. 

that  you  announce  to  Signer  Alboni  the  termination  of  my  studies 
with  him,  and  pay  his  bill." 

"  Do  you  know,  that  although  it  is  only  the  second  week  of 
the  session,  you  will  be  charged  for  the  term  ?" 

"  I  do,  sir." 

"What  if  I  refuse  to  discharge  the  debt?" 

"  I  shall  liquidate  it  with  the  money  intended  for  my  personal 
expenses." 

«  And  if  I  forbid  this,  and  command  you  to  continue  your 
lessons?' 

«  I  shall  refuse  obedience  to  a  demand  you  have  not  the  right 
to  make." 

"  Miss  Ross  !  do  you  know  to  whom  you  are  speaking  ?" 

«  I  address  Mr.  Read." 

"  And  your  guardian,  young  lady  !" 

"  The  guardian  of  my  property,  sir." 

"  You  are  under  no  obligations  to  me,  I  suppose  !" 

"  None  that  I  am  conscious  of.  You  are  paid  for  your  ser- 
vices and  my  board." 

"  There  are  cares  for  which  money  can  ofier  no  adequate  com- 
pensation." 

« Indeed,  sir !  I  thought  gold  a  cure  for  every  ill ;  a  reward 
for  every  toil.  But  we  are  digressing.  You  will  do  as  I  wish  ?" 

"  Resume  your  seat,  if  you  please !  The  hope  that  I  might 
have  regarded  your  request  favorably,  is  lessened  by  your  unbe- 
coming deportment.  You  are  ignorant  of  any  benefits  I  have 
conferred  upon  you !  Since  you  will  have  a  debit  and  credit 
account,  I  will  enlighten  you  on  this  point.  You  came  into  this 
house  two  years  ago — a  romantic,  sentimental,  mawkish,  spoiled 
child  ;  weeping  at  every  word  which  happened  to  jar  upon  your 
exquisite  sensibilities ;  an  unsophisticated  simpleton ;  a  fit  prey 
for  any  bungler  in  deception ;  unformed  in  manner ;  womanish 
in  feeling,  and  extravagant  in  expression.  You  have  now, 
although  but  seventeen  years  of  age,  more  sense  and  self-pos- 
session than  most  women  of  double  your  years;  control  the 
weaknesses  which  rendered  you  so  ridiculous ;  are  accomplished 
and  respected ;  in  short,  I  say  it  without  flattery  to  myself,  or  to 
you,  bid  fair  to  fill  your  position  in  society  creditably.  You 
have  still  obstacles  to  surmount;  but  I  have  judged  your  failings 


ALONE.  21 

leniently,  attributing  them,  mainly,  to  the  defects  in  your  early 
training.  If  your  mother  had  had  the  wisdom  and  discretion" — 
"  Stop,  sir,  stop !"  exclaimed  the  girl,  rising  from  her  chair, 
and  trembling  in  every  limb  with  excitement.  "Take  not  the 
name  of  my  holy  mother  upon  your  lips — still  less  cast  the 
shadow  of  reproach  upon  her  conduct !  You  have  taught  me 
the  corruption  of  human  nature, — have  crushed  all  the  warm 
affections  I  had  been  instructed  to  cherish ; — have  made  the  life 
my  young  mind  pictured  so  inviting,  a  desert  waste,  inhabited 
by  wily  monsters ; — but  over  the  wreck  there  shines  one  ray, 
the  memory  of  an  angel  lent  to  earth!  Fpr  her  sake  I  live 
among  those  whose  form  she  wore,  but  with  whose  foul  hearts 
hers  could  have  had  no  fellowship.  You  tell  me  she  was  like 
the  rest,  that  the  religion,  in  her  so  lovely,  is  a  delusion — and 
I  answer,  I  do  not  believe  you.  In  her  name  I  refute  your 
vile  sophisms  !  Heaven  knows  how  little  I  have  profited  by 
her  counsels  and  example.  I  loathe  myself!  'A  woman,' you 
said !  rather  a  fiend !  for  such  is  woman  when  she  buries  her 
heart,  nor  mourns  above  its  grave.  '  Control  my  feelings !'  I 
do  !  I  have  driven  back  the  tears  until  the  scalding  waves  have 
killed  whatever  in  my  soul  could  boast  a  heavenly  birth.  There 
is  nothing  there  to  prove  my  relationship  to  my  mother,  but  her 
memory.  When  that  is  destroyed  I  shall  go  mad.  I  am  on 
the  verge  of  insanity  now — I  often  am  !  I  do  not  doubt  your 
assertions  as  to  your,  and  shame  on  me  that  I  should  say  it,  my 
brethren;  for  in  yourself  I  see  all  the  traits  you  ascribe  to  them. 
"Woman,  you  say,  belongs  to  an  order  of  yet  inferior  beings;  and 
in  your  daughter  I  have  an  illustration  of  this ;  for  she  inherits 
her  father's  character,  combined  with  a  meaner  mind.  You  con- 
sider that  I  owe  you  respect, — I  do  not !  I  am  superior  to  you 
both,  for  I  still  struggle  with  the  emotions  our  Creator  kindled 
up  within  us,  and  sent  us  to  earth  to  extinguish.  "Within  your 
bosoms  there  are  only  cold  ashes.  Frown  as  you  please  !  your 
anger  intimidates  as  little  as  your  ridicule  abashes.  The  idea 
once  entered  my  mind  that  I  could  win  you  and  your  child  to 
love  me.  I  could  laugh  at  the  thought ;  that  was  in  my  senti- 
mental days,  when  I  deemed  that  the  desolate  orphan  must  find 
affection  somewhere.  My  most  '  extravagant'  imaginings  never 
paint  such  a  possibility  now.  I  have  done.  We  understand 


22  ALONE. 

each  other.  The  contempt  you  had  for  the  <  mawkish'  baby, 
cannot  equal  mine  for  you.  You  will  say  no  more  of  obligation 
and  respect.  I  despise  you,  and  I  owe  you  nothing  ?" 

"  Is  the  girl  mad  in  good  earnest  ?"  gasped  the  cause  of  this 
burning  torrent,  as  the  door  closed  upon  her.  «  She's  a  dan- 
gerous customer  when  her  blood  is  up — a  perfect  Vesuvius,  and 
I  came  near  being  Herculaneum  or  Pompeii.  I've  seen  Ross  in 
these  tantrums,  when  we  were  chums  together.  She  looked 
like  her  father  when  she  said  she  was  my  superior.  Bah  I"  He 
picked  up  his  "Enquirer,"  but  the  political  news  was  stale 
and  vapid :  the  "  Whig"  was  tried  with  no  better  success.  In 
the  centre  of  the  racy  editorial,  and  oddly  mixed  with  the  adver- 
tisements, was  that  incarnation  of  pride  and  passion,  which 
through  her  eyes,  more  plainly  than  her  lips,  said,  "  I  despise 
you,  and  I  owe  you  nothing."  Thus  stood  her  part  of  the 
account  he  had  proposed  to  examine. 


CHAPTEE    IV. 

Miss  CARLETON  acknowledged  the  appearance  of  her  desk- 
mate  on  the  succeeding  morning,  by  an  inclination  of  the  head 
and  a  smile ;  and  nothing  more  passed  between  them  until  the 
hour  for  Italian.  She  paused,  seeing  that  Ida  retained  her  seat. 
"  Are  you  not  going  in  ?"  she  ventured  to  ask. 

«  No." 

There  was  a  moment  of  hesitation,  and  she  spoke  again.  "  I 
would  not  appear  to  dictate,  but  do  you  not  fear  Mr.  Purcell 
may  construe  your  non-attendance  into  disrespect  to  himself  ?" 

"  I  fear  nothing,"  was  upon  Ida's  tongue,  but  her  better 
nature  would  not  allow  her  to  return  rudeness  for  what,  suspi- 
cion could  torture  into  nothing  but  disinterested  kindness. 
With  a  gleam  of  her  former  frankness  she  looked  up  at  her 
interlocutor,  "  You  do  not  know  as  much  as  I  do,  or  you  would 
understand  the  imitilitv  of  my  presence  at  the  trinl  which  comes 


A  LONE.  23 

off  this  morning.  I  would  avoid  a  repetition  of  yesterday's 
scene.  One  will  suffice  for  a  life-time." 

"  You  met  then  with  insult  and  injustice.  To-day,  Mr.  Pur- 
cell  will  shield  you  from  both.  As  a  gentleman,  and  a  conscien- 
tious judge,  he  cannot  but  see  that  Alboni's  attack  was  uncalled 
for,  and  decide  against  him." 

"  No  man  is  conscientious  when  his  conscience  militates  against 
his  purse  and  popularity." 

Miss  Carleton  seemed  shocked,  and  Ida  added,  hastily,  "  Our 
views  upon  this,  as  upon  most  subjects,  are  very  different,  I 
fancy;  therefore,  discussion  is  worse  than  useless.  In  this 
instance,  my  determination  is  taken ;"  and  she  opened  her  book. 

"I  will  not  attempt  to  shake  it,"  replied  her  companion. 
"  But  suffer  me  to  hope  for  a  longer  conversation  at  some  future 
time,  upon  these  topics,  concerning  which  you  think  we  differ. 
There  may  be  some  points  of  agreement,  and  I,  for  one,  am  open 
to  conviction." 

Again  was  Ida  thrown  off  her  guard,  and  the  smile  that 
answered  irradiated  her  face  like  a  sudden  sunbeam.  But 
when  her  class-mate  had  gone,  she  thought, — "  Weak  fool!  the 
reserve  I  have  striven  for  two  years  to  establish,  melted  by  a 
soft  speech  of  a  school- girl.  She  is  one  of  the  would-be  '  popu- 
lar' sort,  and  would  worm  herself  into  confidence  by  an  affectation 
of  sympathy  and  sweetness." 

"  Miss  Koss,"  said  Mr.  Purcell,  a  while  later,  coming  up  to 
her  desk,  "you  will  do  me  the  favor  to  meet  me  in  my  study  at 
two  o'clock." 

At  the  time  designated,  she  walked  with  a  stately  tread 
through  the  long  school-room,  unabashed  by  the  hundred  curious 
eyes  bent  upon  her;  for  a  summons  to  "the  study"  was  an  event 
of  rare  occurrence,  and  had  been  heretofore  the  harbinger  of 
some  important  era  in  the  annals  of  school-dom.  Ida  was  pre- 
pared for  every  thing'  partiality  could  dictate,  and  tyranny 
execute ;  but  Mr.  Purcell  was  alone,  and  his  demeanor  anything 
but  menacing.  "  He  thinks  to  cajole  me,"  whispered  the  fell 
demon  Distrust,  and  her  heart  changed  to  steel. 

"  Miss  Ida,"  began  the  principal,  mildly,  "  this  is  your  third 
session  in  this  institution,  and  I  can  sincerely  declare  that  during 
that  time,  your  propriety  of  behaviour,  and  diligence  in  study 


24  ALONE. 

have  not  been  surpassed.  I  have  never  had  a  young  lady  under 
my  care,  whose  improvement  was  more  rapid — of  whose  attain- 
ments I  was  more  proud ;  but  I  regret  to  say,  never  one  whose 
confidence  I  failed  so  signally  to  gain.  A  teacher's  task,  iny 
dear  Miss  Ross,  is  at  best  an  arduous  one,  but  if  he  receive  no 
recompense  for  his  toil  in  the  affection  of  those  for  whom  he 
labors,  his  life  is  indeed  one  of  cheerless  drudgery.  You  appear 
to  regard  me  as  a  mere  machine.  For  a  time  I  attributed  your 
reserve  to  diffidence,  and  trusted  that  time  and  my  efforts  would 
dissipate  it.  On  the  contrary,  the  distance  between  us  has 
increased.  You  hold  yourself  aloof  from  your  school-mates, 
repelling  every  offered  familiarity,  yet  I  have  seen  you  weep 
after  such  an  act.  Your  cheek  glows  with  enthusiasm  when 
your  favorite  studies  engage  your  mind,  and  you  relapse  into 
frigid  hauteur  when  recalled  to  the  actual  world  around  you. 
You  have  feeling  as  well  as  intellect — you  are  acting  a  part 
assumed  from  some  unaccountable  fancy;  or,  I  would  rather 
believe,  put  upon  you  by  necessity.  The  evidence  of  your  want 
of  reliance  in  my  friendship  which  you  have  given  me  to-day, 
has  determined  me  to  speak  candidly  with  you.  I  would  not 
wrest  a  confession  from  you  which  you  might  afterwards  repent, 
but  I  entreat  you  to  look  upon  me  as  a  friend  who  has  a  paternal 
love  for  each  member  of  his  numerous  family,  who  desires  to  see 
you  happy,  and  asks — not  your  confidence,  but  that  you  will  let 
him  serve  you." 

Ida  sat  like  a  statue.  He  resumed  in  a  tone  of  disappointment — 
"As  to  the  unjustifiable  charge  brought  by  Signer  Alboni — I 
am  aware  how  galling  is  even  the  appearance  of  humiliation  upon 
so  proud  a  spirit.  I  have  investigated  the  matter  carefully.  The 
testimony  of  your  friend,  Miss  Carleton,  would  of  itself  have  been 
sufiicient  to  exonerate  you.  It  was  confirmed  by  the  voice  of  the 
class,  and  the  inevitable  consequence  is,  that  Signer  Alboni  no 
longer  has  a  place  in  my  school.  I  can  safely  promise  that  the 
teacher  I  have  selected  in  his  stead,  will  oppose  no  impediment 
to  your  progress." 

Shame  for  her  unjust  accusations,  and  remorseful  gratitude 
pierced  Ida's  bosom.  Greatly  agitated,  she  approached  her 
instructor,  when  Mr.  Read  walked  in ; — a  cynical  iceberg ! 
Every  generous  emotion — all  softness  vanished  on  the  instant. 


ALONE.  26 

His  inquiring  glance  encountered  one  as  freezing.  "  I  will  not 
detain  you  longer,  Mr.  Purcell/'  she  said,  as  if  concluding  a 
business  arrangement.  "  As  nearly  as  I  can  understand,  your 
object  in  sending  for  me  was  to  secure  me  as  a  pupil  of  the  new 
language-master.  Having  undertaken  the  study  of  the  Italian, 
I  prefer  going  through  with  the  course.  Mr.  Read  will  settle 
the  terms.  Good  afternoon,  gentlemen;"  and  with  the  mien  of 
3  duchess  she  left  them. 

Mr.  Read  "  had  been  delayed  by  pressing  business.  Miss 
Ross  requested  him  to  see  Signor  Alboni — was  sorry  he  was 
late — presumed  all  was  right,  etc.,"  and  walked  out  again.  Mr. 
Purcell  was  too  much  hurt,  and  too  indignant  at  his  pupil's  con- 
duct, to  care  whether  he  stayed  or  not. 

The  misguided  girl  had  alienated  a  true  friend,  and  she  knew 
it — felt  it  in  her  heart's  core.  In  the  solitude  of  her  chamber 
she  wept  bitter  tears :  "  I  have  cast  away  the  gem  for  which  I 
would  sell  my  soul !  While  I  thirsted  for  the  waters  of  affec- 
tion, I  struck  down  the  hand  that  held  them  to  my  lip.  It  is 
my  fate — I  was  not  born  to  be  loved — I  hate  myself — whv 
should  I  inspire  others  with  a  different  feeling  ?" 

In  vain  she  tried  to  reason  herself  into  a  belief  of  Mr.  Pur- 
cell's  insincerity.  Truth  speaks  with  a  convincing  tongue,  and 
she  knew  that  the  imputation  of  interested  motives  she  had 
hurled  at  him  in  the  unfortunate  revulsion  of  feeling,  was 
unfounded. 

In  intermission  next  day,  a  note  was  laid  upon  Ida's  desk, 
inscribed  in  towering  capitals,  to  "  Misses  Ross  and  Carleton.*" 
It  ran  thus : — " 

"  At  a  large  and  enthusiastic  meeting  of  the  Italian  class  of 
Mr.  Purcell'  a  Young  Ladies'  Female  Seminary,  convened  on 
yesterday  afternoon,  the  succeeding  resolutions  were  proposed, 
and  carried  unanimously . 

"Resolved)  That  whereas,  Miss  Ida  Ross  and  Miss  Caroline 
Carleton,  members  of  the  aforesaid  class,  have,  by  their  spirited 
independence  delivered  us  from  an  oppression  as  grinding  as  that 
under  which  our  Revolutionary  forefathers  groaned,  a  vote  of 
thanks  shall  be  tendered  them  in  the  name  of  their  compatriots. 
And— 

3 


26  ALONE. 

"  Resolved,  Moreover,  that  we  bind  ourselves  to  assist  them 
by  our  united  suffrages  in  the  attainment  of  any  honor  for  which 
they  shall  hereafter  be  candidates,  whether  the  dunce-block  or 
the  gold  medal.  ANNA  TALBOT,  Chairman. 

ELLEN  MORRIS,  Secretary. 

The  event  which  had  elicited  this  public  manifestation,  was 
to  Ida,  connected  \vith  too  much  that  was  unpleasant,  to  allow 
her  to  smile  at  the  pompous  communication.  She  passed  it 
gravely  to  her  neighbor.  She  laughed  at  the  ludicrous  repeti- 
tion of  feminity  in  the  second  line,  and  at  the  conclusion, 
bounded  upon  the  platform  where  stood  Mr.  Purcell's  desk, 
and  commenced  a  flourishing  harangue  "  for  herself  and  col- 
loague,"  expressing  their  gratitude  at  the  flattering  tribute  from 
their  fellow-laborers,  and  pledging  themselves  to  uphold  forever 
their  honor  and  lawful  privileges.  "  In  the  language  of  your 
eloquent  resolution,  my  sisters,  we  form  a  <  Young  Ladies' 
Female  Seminary' — womanfully  will  we  battle  for  woman's 
rights." 

"  Hush-h-h  !"  and  Mr.  Purcell  was  discovered  standing  behind 
the  crowd.  He  stood  aside  to  let  the  blushing  orator  return  to 
her  scat,  remarking  in  an  under-tone  as  she  passed,  "I  must 
take  care  to  enlist  such  talents  in  my  service — I  shall  be  undone 
if  they  are  directed  against  me." 

"  Oh  Carry  !  what  did  he  say  ?"  whispered  Fanny  Porter. 

"  Nothing  very  dreadful,"  she  returned,  laughingly.  Ida 
looked  on  in  surprise,  Josephine  with  scorn;  but  to  the  majority, 
this  little  episode  in  their  monotonous  life  was  a  diverting  enter- 
tainment. 

"  Give  me  a  girl  who  is  not  too  proud  to  relish  a  joke,"  said 
Ellen  Morris.  "  Ida  Ross  is  above  such  buffoonery  She  would 
not  have  demeaned  her  dignity  before  the  school." 

"  But  Carry  spoke  for  her  too,"  said  Emma  Glenn,  a  meek, 
charitable  creature.  "Perhaps  modesty,  not  pride,  kept  her 
silent." 

"Fiddlesticks  !"  was  the  school-girlish  rejoinder. 

Ida  had  missed  a  chance  for  making  herself  popular.  The 
girls  were  moved  to  admiration  by  her  manner  of  resenting 
Alboni's  rudeness,  and  their  joy  at  getting  rid  of  him,  assumed 


ALONE.  27 

the  shape  of  gratitude  to  their  champion.  She  was  for  the  hour 
a  heroine,  and  might  have  retained  her  stand,  but  for  her  cool 
treatment  of  their  advances.  She  saw,  without  understanding 
the  reason  of  the  change,  that  there  was  now  a  mingling  of  dis- 
like in  their  neglect ;  and  as  she  sank  in  their  esteem,  Carry 
mounted.  Mr.  Purcell  never  noticed  her  out  of  the  recitation 
room — Mr.  Head  was  more  lofty — Josephine  more  contemptuous 
than  ever  Inmates  of  one  house — occupying  adjacent  cham- 
bers— sitting  at  the  same  board  at  home,  and  within  speaking 
distance  at  school,  the  two  girls  had  not  one  feeling  in  common 
— a  spark  of  affection  one  for  the  other..  Open  ruptures  were 
infrequent  now,  although  they  were  innumerable  during  the  first 
months  of  their  companionship.  They  appeared  together  in  pub- 
lic— this  Mr.  Head  enjoined  "  It  was  due  to  his  reputation, 
people  should  not  say  that  his  daughter's  privileges  exceeded 
his  ward's."  Further  than  this  he  did  not  interfere.  He  saw 
them  only  at  meal-times,  and  in  the  evening ;  then  Josephine 
presided  over  the  tea-tray  with  skill  and  grace,  and  amused 
him,  if  he  wished  it,  by  reading,  singing  or  talking.  Ida  did  as 
she  pleased.  There  were  no  requirements,  no .  privations.  In 
the  eyes  of  the  world  her  situation  was  unexceptionable.  They 
knew  nothing  of  the  covert  sneers  which  smiled  down  any  ten- 
dency to  what  the  torpid  minds  of  the  father  and  daughter 
considered  undue  enthusiasm;  their  sarcastic  notice  of  her  "sin- 
gularities," their  studied  variance  with  her  views; — but  to  her, 
bondage  and  cruelty  would  have  been  more  tolerable.  Yet  this 
mocking  surveillance — this  certainty  of  ridicule,  could  not  always 
check  the  earnest  expression  of  a  grasping  intellect  and  ardent 
temperament;  and  there  were  not  a  few  who  frequented  the 
house,  who  preferred  the  piquancy  of  her  conversation,  when 
they  could  draw  her  out  of  the  snow-caverns  of  her  reserve,  to 
the  trite  common-places  and  artificial  spirits  of  Miss  Read. 

Among  these  was  Mr.  Dermott,  an  Irish  gentleman  of  con- 
siderable scientific  renown,  and  a  traveller  of  some  note ;  hard 
upon  forty  years  of  age,  but  enjoying  life  with  the  zest  of 
twenty.  Ida's  intelligent  countenance  had  pleased  him  at  their 
introduction,  and  having  letters  to  Mr.  Read,  he  embraced  every 
opportunity  to  improve  the  acquaintance. 

"  I  shall  not  go  to  school  to-day,"  said  Josephine,  one  morn- 


28  ALONE. 

ing,  "  father  expects  Mr.  Dermott  and  several  other  gentlemen 
to  dine  with  him,  and  I  cannot  be  spared.  He  says  you  must 
come  home  in  time  for  dinner." 

(j>  As  school  breaks  up  at  three,  and  you  will  not  dine  before 
five,  there  was  no  need  to  issue  the  command;"  said  Ida,  irritated 
at  her  arrogant  tone. 

"  Very  well,  I  have  delivered  the  message." 

Mr.  Head  was  dissatisfied  that  his  ward  did  not  enter  the 
drawing-room  until  dinner  was  announced.  "  It  did  not  look 
well," — and  her  nonchalant  air  and  slight  recognition  of  the 
party,  did  not  "  speak  well  for  his  bringing  up."  But  the 
current  veered  before  meal  was  over.  The  fowls  were  under- 
done, and  the  potatoes  soaked.  His  glance  of  displeasure  at  his 
daughter  was  received  with  such  imperturbability,  that  he  chafed 
at  the  impossibility  of  moving  her,  and  his  desire  to  render  some- 
body uncomfortable.  The  latter  wish  was  not  left  ungratified. 
One  after  another  felt  the  influence  of  his  lowering  brow,  and 
imitated  his  silence,  until  Mr.  Dermott  and  Ida  were  the  only 
ones  who  maintained  a  connected  conversation.  He  talked 
fluently  with  the  humor  peculiar  to  his  countrymen,  and  had 
succeeded  in  interesting  his  listener.  She  had  naturally  a 
happy  laugh,  which  in  earlier  years  rung  out  in  merry  music ; 
and  as  the  unusual  sound  startled  him  from  time  to  time,  Mr. 
Read  took  it  as  a  personal  affront.  Could  not  she  see  that  he 
was  out  of  temper  ?  He  had  punished  the  rest  for  the  cook's 
misdeeds,  how'  dare  she,  while  they  sat  'neath  the  thunder  cloud 
of  his  magnificent  wrath,  sport  in  the  sunshine  ?  It  was  auda- 
cious bravado.  She  should  rue  it  ere  long.  Josephine  readily 
obeyed  his  signal  to  leave  the  table,  so  soon  as  it  could  be  done 
with  a  semblance  of  propriety.  » I  will  hear  the  rest,  by  and 
by,"  said  Ida  to  Mr.  Dermott,  "au  revoir."  Neither  of  the 
girls  spoke  after  quitting  the  dining-room.  Josephine  lay  upon 
a  lounge,  with  half-closed  lids,  apparently  drowsy  or  fatigued, 
in  reality,  wakeful  and  watching.  Ida  walked  back  and  forth, 
humming  an  Irish  air — pleased  and  thoughtful.  Then  taking 
from  the  bookcase  a  volume  of  "  Travels,"  she  employed  herself 
in  looking  it  over. 

"  See  I"  said  she,  at  Mr.  Dermott's  reappearance,  "  it  is  as  I 
thought.  This  author's  account  varies,  in  some  respects,  from 


ALONE. 

yours  ;  and  at  the  peril  of  my  place  in  your  good  graces,  I 
inust  declare  my  prejudices  to  be  with  him.  A  spot  so  cele- 
orated,  so  sacred  in  its  associations,  cannot  be  as  uninteresting 
as  you  would  have  me  to  think.  Come,  confess,  that  the  jolting 
camel  and  surly  guide  were  accessories  to  your  discontent." 

Josephine  lost  the  answer,  and  much  that  followed.  She  was 
joined  by  young  Pemberton,  a  fop  of  the  first  water,  with  sense 
enough  to  make  him  uneasy  in  the  society  of  the  gifted,  and 
meanness  to  rejoice  in  their  discomfiture  and  misfortune.  For 
the  rest,  he  was  weak  and  hot-headed,  a  compound  of  conceit 
and  malice.  Time  was  when  he  admired  Ida.  He  had  an 
indefinite  notion  that  a  clever  wife  would  reflect  lustre  upon 
him ;  and  a  very  decided  appreciation  of  her  more  shining  and 
substantial  charms. 

Her  repulse  was  a  mortal  offence :  small  minds  never  forget, 
much  less  pardon  a  rebuke  to  their  vanity,  and  he  inly  swore 
revenge.  But  how  to  get  it  ?  She  rose  superior  to  his  witless 
sarcasms,  and  more  pointed  slights;  reversing  the  arrows  towards 
himself,  and  his  mortification  heated  into  hatred.  Josephine  was 
aware  of  this  feeling,  and  its  cause ;  and  while  despising,  in  a 
man,  a  weakness  to  which  she  was  herself  a  prey,  foreseeing  that 
he  might  prove  a  convenient  tool,  she  attached  him  to  her  by 
suasives  and  flatteries. 

"  It  is  a  positive  relief  to  talk  to  you,  Miss  Josephine/'  he 
yawned,  « I  am  surfeited  with  literature  and  foreigners.  These 
travelled  fellows  are  outrageous  bores,  with  their  bushy  mousta- 
chios  and  outlandish  lingo.  How  the  ladies  can  fawn  upon 
them  as  they  do,  I  cannot  comprehend." 

"  Do  not  condemn  us  all  for  the  failings  of  a  part.  There  are 
those  who  prefer  pure  gold  to  gilded  trash." 

"  For  your  sake,  I  will  make  some  exceptions,"  with  a  "  kill- 
ing" look.  "  But  what  do  you  imagine  to  be  the  object  of  that 
flirtation  ?  No  young  lady  of  prudence  or  proper  self-respect, 
would  encourage  so  boldly  the  attentions  of  a  stranger.  Sup- 
posing him  to  be  what  he  represents,  (a  thing  by  no  means 
certain,)  she  cannot  intend  to  marry  him — a  man  old  enough  to 
be  her  father !' 

"  But,  'unison  of  tastes,'  < concord  of  souls,'  etc.,  will  go  far 
towards  reconciling  her  to  the  disparity  of  years/'  observed 
3* 


30  ALONE. 

Josephine,  ironically;  not  sorry  to  strike  up'on  this  tender  point. 
He  tried  to  laugh,  but  with  indifferent  success. 

Ida's  voice  reached  them,  and  they  stopped  to  listen. 
"  I  ain  afraid  my  conceptions  of  Eastern  life  and  scenery  are 
more  poetical  than  correct.     I  picture  landscapes  sleeping  in 
warm,  rich,  ( Syrian  sunshine,'  '  sandal  groves  and  bowers  of 
spice/ 

'  Ruined  shrines,  and  towers  that  seem 
The  relics  of  some  splendid  dream,' — 

such  a  Fairy  Land  as  ignorance  and  imagination  create." 

"  The  Utopia  of  one  who  studies  Lalla  Rookh  more  than 
<  Eastern  Statistics,'  or  <  Incidents  of  Travel,' "  said  Mr.  Der 
mott,  smiling.  "  Yet  Moore's  descriptions  are  not  so  much 
overwrought  as  some  suppose.  His  words  came  continually  to 
my  tongue.  He  has  imbibed  the  true  spirit  of  Oriental  poetry; 
the  melancholy,  which,  like  the  ghost  of  a  dead  age,  broods  over 
that  oldest  of  lands;  the  passion  flushing  under  their  tropical 
sun ;  their  wealth  of  imagery.  Lalla  Rookh  reads  like  a  trans- 
lation from  the  original  Persian.  The  wonder  is  that  he  has 
never  been  self-tempted  to  visit  the  'Vale  of  Cashmere'  in 
person." 

"  Campbell,  too,  having  immortalized  Wyoming,  will  not  cross 
the  ocean  to  behold  it,"  said  Ida. 

There  was  a  consultation  between  the  confederates,  and  Pem- 
berton  crossed  to  Ida's  chair,  with  a  smirk  that  belied  the  fire 
in  his  eye. 

11  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Dermott, — Miss  Ida,  I  am  commissioned  to 
inquire  of  you  the  authorship  and  meaning  of  this  quotation — 

'  Deeply,  darkly,  desperately  blue !' " 

It  is  impossible  to  convey  a  just  impression  of  the  offensive 
tone  and  emphasis  with  which  this  impertinence  was  uttered. 
The  quick-witted  Irishman  saw  through  the  design  in  an 
instant.  "  It  is  from  a  Scotch  author,"  said  he,  before  Ida 
could  reply,  "  and  the  rhyme  runs  after  this  fashion — 

'Feckless,  fairlie,  farcically  fou!'" 

and  not  deigning  a  second  glance  at  the  questioner,  he  con- 
tinued his  account  of  a  visit  he  had  paid  to  Moore.     The  object 


ALONE. 

of  this  merciless  retort  stood  for  a  second,  in  doubt  ;. 
meaning,  and  then  walked  off,  still  in  incertitude.     Ida's       ^ 
while  it  might  have  been  in  respc.          ,  7\Ir.  Dermott' s     .31-3 
assured  Josephine  that  her  end  was  v  :     :cmplished,  befc  •  i«i 
messenger  had  delivered  his  lame  re 

"  She  understood  me,  and  it  cut  pretty  deeply,  but  that  pv; 
of  a  paddy  answered  for  her.     He  repeated  the  next  line,  im 
1  from  a  Scotch  author,'  he  said,  but  I  believe  he  made  it  up." 

"  What  was  it  ?"  asked  Josephine. 

"  <  Fairly,  farcically  fou,'  or  something  like  that.  If  I  were 
sure  that  last  word  meant  fool,  I  would  knock  him  down.  Do 
you  understand  Scotch?" 

"  No,"  replied  Josephine,  vexed,  but  afraid  to  excite  him 
further.  "He  is  beneath  the  notice  of  a  gentleman ;  we  can 
let  him  alone." 

But  Ida's  share  in  this  was  not  to  be  overlooked.  Josephine 
appeared  as  usual  at  breakfast :  talkative  to  her  father,  and  taci- 
turn to  her  female  companion.  At  length  she  inquired,  mean- 
ingly, "by  the  way,  Ida,  when  does  your  travelled  Hibernian 
4  lave  this  counthry  ?'  " 

"  If  you  speak  of  Mr.  Dermott,  I  do  not  know." 

"  Is  it  not  remarkable,"  said  Josephine  to  her  parent,  "  that 
polish  and  purify  as  you  may,  you  cannot  cure  an  Irishman  of 
vulgarity?  Irish  he  is,  and  Irish  he  will  remain  to  the  end  oi 
the  chapter." 

"  Dermott  behaves  very  decently,  does  he  not  ?  His  letters 
of  recommendation — introduction,  I  would  say,  describe  him  as 
a  pattern  gentleman." 

Josephine  lifted  her  brows.  "  It  is  a  misfortune  to  be  fas- 
tidious ;  my  education  has  rendered  me  so.  I  cannot  tolerate 
elang  or  abuse,  especially  when  directed  at  a  superior  in  polite- 
ness, if  not  in  assurance." 

"What  now?"  demanded  Mr.  Read,  impatiently;  and  Ida, 
unable  to  hear  more  in  silence,  started  up  from  the  table. 

"Wait,  if  you  please,"  said  Josephine,  with  that  metallic 
glitter  of  her  grey  eyes.  "  I  wish  you  to  repeat  your  friend's 
reply  to  Mr.  Pcmberton,  when  he  was  the  bearer  of  a  civil  mes- 
sage from  me." 


32  ALONE. 

"  I  heard  no  message  of  that  description,"  retorted  Ida, 
unmoved. 

"  He  did  not  repeat  a  line  of  poetry,  and  ask  the  author's 
name,  I  presume  ?" 
He  did." 
And  you  furnished  the  required  information?" 

'  I  did  not." 

f  Mr.  Dermott  did,  then.     What  was  his  answer?" 

I  do  not  choose  to  tell.     I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  playing 
spy  and  informer." 

"  Then  I  shall  repeat  it.  /am  not  in  the  habit  of  winking  at 
impudence  or  transgressions  of  the  most  common  laws  of  society. 
What  do  you  say,  sir,  of  a  man  who,  in  the  presence  of  ladies, 
calls  another  a  { farcical  fool?'  " 

"  That  he  is  a  foreign  jackanape.  He  never  darkens  my 
door  again.  You  heard  this?"  to  Ida.  • 

«  I  did  not,  sir,  but  Mr.  Pemberton  displays  such  penetration 
in  discovering,  and  taste  in  fitting  on  caps  that  could  suit  no  one 
else  so  well,  I  am  not  inclined  to  contest  his  title  to  this  latest 
style." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  your  defence  of  your  erudite  suitor," 
said  Josephine,  laying  a  disagreeable  stress  upon  the  adjective. 
"If  he  were  to  single  me  out  in  every  company,  as  the  one  being 
capable  of  appreciating  him,  I,  too,  should  be  blinded  by  the 
distinction  attendant  upon  my  notoriety.  But  as  His  Highness 
never  gives  token,  by  word  or  deed,  of  his  consciousness  of  the 
existence  of  so  unpretending  a  personage,  I  may  be  pardoned 
uiy  impartial  observation  and  judgment.  I  do  not  expect  you 
to  forbid  his  visits,  sir,  but  I  wish  it  understood  that  /  am  not 
••it  home  when  he  calls." 

"  And  that  you  reject  his  attentions  ?"  asked  Ida,  dryly. 

Josephine  did  not  like  her  smile,  yet  saw  no  danger  in  reply- 
ing— "assuredly!" 

"It  is  a  pity,"  was  the  rejoinder,  »  that  your  resolution  was 
not  postponed  until  Tuesday." 

«  And  why?"  said  Mr.  Read. 

"  Mr.  Dermot  informed  me  last  night  that  he  had  secured  three 
tickets  for  the  concert  of  Monday  evening,  and  requested  permis- 
sion to  call  for  Josephine  and  myself.  I  told  him  that  she  had 


ALONE.  33 

expressed  anxiety  to  attend,  and  that  I  was  disengaged.  She 
was  not  in  the  parlor  when  he  left,  and  he  entrusted  the  invita- 
tion to  me.  He  will  be  here  this  forenoon  for  her  answer.  As 
things  now  stand,  his  visit  will  be  extremely  mal-apropos.  I 
shall  decline  for  myself;  she  can  do  the  same." 

Josephine  prudently  lowered  her  eye-lids,  but  her  lips  were 
white  with  rage.  She  had  especial  reasons  for  desiring  to  go  to 
this  concert.  Every  body  was  running  mad  after  the  principal 
performer : — absence  from  necessity  would  be  a  pitiable  inflic- 
tion ; — to  stay  away  from  choice,  irrefragable  proof  of  want  of 
taste.  To  be  escorted  thither  by  Mr.  Dermott,  would  give  her 
an  eclat  the  devotion  of  a  score  of  Pembertons  could  not  pro- 
duce. In  seeking  to  mortify  another,  she  had  pulled  down  this 
heavy  chagrin  upon  her  own  head, — common  fate  of  those  who 
would  make  the  hearts  and  backs  of  their  fellows  the  rounds  of 
their  ladder  to  revenge  or  to  fame. 

Even  Mr.  Head  was  momentarily  disconcerted.  "  I  will  pro- 
cure you  a  ticket,"  he  said,  consolingly. 

That  tongue  was  used  to  falsehood,  yet  it  did  not  move  as 
glibly  as  was  its  wont,  as  she  replied,  "  I  do  not  care  to  go,  sir." 

"  That  is  fortunate,"  said  Ida,  "  as  every  seat  was  taken  yes- 
terday. You  do  not  object  to  my  withdrawing  now  ?" 

The  shot  had  gone  home;  her  enmity  was  gratified;  she  had 
not  been  anxious  to  attend  from  the  first,  and  therefore  was  not 
disappointed ;  she  did  not  suffer  from  pained  sensibility ;  the 
frequency  of  these  encounters  had  inured  her  to  ambushed  attack; 
she  was  fast  becoming  a  match  for  them  in  stoicism,  and  sur- 
passed them  in  satire;  in  this  skirmish  she  had  borne  flying 
colours  from  the  field;  but  had  the  contrary  of  all  these  things 
been  true,  she  could  not  have  been  more  wretched  She  hated, 
as  spirits  like  hers  only  can  hate,  her  cold-hearted  persecutors, 
and  exulted  in  their  defeat;  yet  close  upon  triumph  came  a 
twinge  of  remorse  and  a  sense  of  debasement. 

"  I  am  sinking  to  their  level !  I  could  compete  with  them  upon 
no  other  ground.  They  are  despicable  in  their  worldliness  and 
malice ;  shall  I  grovel  and  hiss  with  them  ?  It  seems  inevitable 
— debarred  as  I  am  from  all  associations  which  can  elevate  and 
clear  my  mind.  Oh  !  the  low  envy  in  that  girl's  face  as  she 
named  my  <  suitor  !'  Destitute  of  mental  wants  herself,  she 


34  ALONE. 

thinks  of  nothing  but  courtship  and  a  settlement!  But  this 
matter  must  be  arranged." 

She  opened  her  writing-desk.  Her  chamber  was  her  retreat 
and  sanctum,  and  she  had  lavished  much  taste  and  time  in  fit- 
ting it  up.  All  its  appurtenances  spoke  of  genius  and  refine- 
ment. With  a  poetic  love  for  warm  colors  and  striking  contrasts, 
crimson  and  black  relieved,  each  the  other,  in  her  carpet  and 
curtains.  The  bedstead,  seats  and  tables,  fashioned  into  elegant 
and  uncommon  forms  by  her  orders,  were  draped  and  cushioned 
with  the  same  Tyrian  hue.  Books  and  portfolios  were  heaped 
and  strewed  upon  the  shelves  and  stands;  and  in  one  corner, 
upon  a  wrought  bronze  tripod,  was  an  exquisite  statuette — a  girl 
kneeling  beside  an  empty  cage,  the  lifeless  songster  stark  and 
cold  in  her  hand  Several  of  Ida's  schoolmates  were  with  her 
when  she  purchased  it  from  an  itinerant  Italian.  They  saw  in 
the  expression  of  hopeless  sadness,  only  regret  for  her  bird.  Ida 
noted  that  her  gaze  was  not  upon  its  ruffled  plumes,  but  to  its 
silent  home;  and  that  one  hand  lay  upon  her  heart.  Looking 
mor<}  narrowly  she  discerned  upon  the  pedestal  the  simple  excla- 
mation, "  Et  inon  coeur  !" 

Henceforward  it  had  become  her  Lares.  She  had  scattered 
flowers  over  it,  kissed  it  weepingly,  and  with  lips  rigid  in  stern 
despair,  laid  her  hot  brow  to  the  white  forehead  of  the  voiceless 
mourner.  She  must  have  something  to  love,  and  the  insensate 
image  was  dear,  because  it  told  of  a  grief  such  as  hers.  Now, 
after  she  dipped  her  pen  in  the  standish,  she  paused  to  contem- 
plate it, — the  red  light  bathing  it  in  a  life-like  glow, — and  the 
blood  receded  from  her  face,  as  she  uttered  aloud  its  touching 
complaint,  «  Et  mon  coeur !" 

Writing  a  note  to  Mr.  Dermott,  in  which,  without  stating  her 
reasons,  she  declined  his  offer,  she  dispatched  it  by  one  of  hex 
own  servants,  lately  promoted  to  the  office  of  Abigail,  and  attired 
herself  for  a  walk.  It  was  Saturday,  and  the  weather  faultless. 
A  sigh  of  relief  escaped  her  when  she  was  in  the  outer  air — she 
was  free  for  a  while.  The  streets  were  densely  peopled — dash- 
ing ladies,  and  marble-playing  urchins,  glorying  in  the  holiday; 
bustling,  pushing  men,  and  lazy  nurses  lugging  fat  babies ;  and 
through  the  incongruous  crowd  the  pale  thinker  threaded  her 
way,  jostling  and  jostled,  wrapped  in  herself,  as  they  thought 


ALONE.  35 

but  of  their  individual  personality,  with  this  difference — they 
spfined  happy  in  their  selfishness;  she  was  miserable  in  her  iso- 
lation. She  did  not  see  that  Pemberton  passed  her  with  a  stift 
bow,  which,  in  punishment  for  her  non-recognition,  he  resolved 
should  be  exchanged  for  a  decided  "  cut"  at  their  next  meeting; 
did  not  catch  Mr.  Purcell's  eye,  as  forgetting  her  rebuff  in  his 
pleasure  at  espying  one,  who  could  rightly  value  the  prize  he  had 
discovered  in  an  antiquated  volume,  musty  with  age,  he  beckoned 
to  her  from  the  door  of  the  bookstore ;  did  not  hear  Emma  G  lenn's 
modest  "Good  morning,  Miss  Ida/'  although  she  liked  the  child, 
and  would  have  loved  her  if  she  had  dared.  She  turned  from 
the  busy  thoroughfare  into  an  unfrequented  street,  keeping  the 
same  rapid  pace ;  the  mind  was  working,  the  body  must  be  mov- 
ing too — on,  still  on,  with  unflagging  speed — 'till  she  found  her- 
self upon  the  summit  of  the  hill  overlooking  the  lower  part  of 
the  city,  and  near  the  old  churchyard.  She  stopped,  and  looked 
in.  A  flight  of  steps  led  up  to  the  burying-ground,  several  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  walk.  What  tempted  her  to  ascend? 
She  had  been  there  before,  and  was  not  interested — yet  the  irre- 
solution ended  in  her  entrance.  It  was  very  still  in  that  Acro- 
polis of  the  dead :  the  long  grass,  yellow  in  the  October  sun, 
waved  without  rustling ;  the  sere  leaves  drifted  silently  to  the 
ground;  from  the  mass  of  buildings  below  her  arose  only  a 
measured  beat  rather  than  hum — as  regular,  and  not  louder, 
than  the  "muffled  drum"  within  her  bosom.  The  warring  ele- 
ments of  discord  sank  into  a  troubled  rest,  but  their  conflict  was 
easier  to  be  borne  than  the  reaction  that  succeeded. 

"Free  among  the  dead;"  forgotten  as  they,  she  sat  upon  a 
broken  tombstone,  in  the  shadow  of  the  venerable  church,  with 
sorrowful  eyes  which  looked  beyond  the  city,  the  river,  and  the 
undulating  low-grounds  skirting  its  banks. 

She  had  said  to  herself  an  hundred  times,  "  I  cannot  be  happy ; 
it  is  folly  to  hope."  But  this  morning  she  felt  she  had  never 
until  now  relinquished  hope;  that  despair,  for  the  first  time, 
stalked  through  the  deserted  halls  of  her  heart,  and  the  dreaded 
echo  "  alone"  answered  his  footsteps. 

It  is  easy  to  give  up  the  world,  with  its  million  sources  of 
delight,  to  share  the  adverse  fortunes  of  one  dearer  than  all  its 


36  ALONE. 

painted  show;  it  is  sweet  to  bid  adieu  to  its  frivol  ties,  for  the 
hope  of  another  and  a  "better,"  but 

"  When  the  draught  so  fair  to  see 
Turns  to  hot  poison  on  the  lip;" 

when  the  duped  soul  cries  out  against  the  fair  pretence  that 
promised  so  much  and  gave  so  little,  when  it  will  none  of  it,  and 
puts  it  by  with  loathing  disgust ; — yet  resorts  to  nothing  more 
real  and  pure; — what  art  can  balm  a  woe  like  this  ? 

A  click  of  the  gate-latch,  and  voices  warned  her  that  her  soli- 
tude was  about  to  be  invaded.  "  I  will  wait  here  half  an  hour/' 
said  familiar  tones.  "  Thank  you/'  was  the  reply;"  "you  need 
not  stay  longer;  if  she  is  at  home  1  shall  spend  the  day."  "Very 
well ;  good  bye,"  and  Carry  Carlton  ran  up  the  steps.  Retreat 
was  impossible,  for  their  eyes  met  at  once,  and  to  the  new  visitor 
the  meeting  appeared  to  give  satisfaction. 

*  "I  am,  indeed,  fortunate,"  said  she,  saluting  Ida,  and  taking 
a  place  beside  her,  "I  expected  to  pass  a  solitary  half-hour.  One 
of  the  girls  came  with  me  to  the  gate.  She  has  gone  to  see  her 
aunt,  and  may  not  return  to-day.  This  is  a  favorite  spot  of  mine. 
I  am  laughed  at  for  the  choice,  yet  it  seems  I  am  not  as  singular 
as  they  would  have  me  believe.  Do  you  come  here  often  ?" 

"  This  is  only  my  second  visit." 

"Indeed!  But  it  is  a  long  walk  from  your  house.  I  live 
nearer,  although  on  the  other  hill." 

"  I  understood  you  were  from  the  country,"  said  Ida. 

"  So  I  am — but  my  sister  resides  here,  and  hers  is  another 
home  to  me.  I  love  the  country,  yet  I  like  Richmond.  It 
is  a  beautiful  city/'  she  continued,  her  glance  roving  over  the 
landscape. 

"  Outwardly — yes." 

"  You  do  not  think  the  inhabitants  adapted  to  their  abode, 
then?" 

"  I  do  not  know  that  they  are  worse  than  the  rest  of  mankind. 
It  is  a  matter  of  astonishment  to  me,  that  this  globe  should  have 
been  set  apart  as  the  theatre  for  so  depraved  a  race." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Carry,  cheerily.  "  I  find  it  a  nice  world 
— the  best  I  am  acquainted  with ;  and  the  people  harmless,  good 


ALONE.  37 

creatures — some  dearer  to  me  than  others;  but  I  entertain  a 
fraternal  affection  for  all." 

"  I  have  read  of  philanthropists/'  said  Ida  ;  "  but  you  are  the 
sole  specimen  I  have  seen.  And  this  universal  love — is  it  con- 
tent to  exist  without  a  reciprocation  ?" 

"  The  heart  would  be  soon  emptied  were  this  so,"  returned 
the  other,  her  bright  face  becoming  serious.  "  There  are  many 
who  love  me ;  if  any  dislike,  I  am  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the 
sentiment  and  its  cause." 

"  But  if  your  friends  were  removed,  and  replaced  by  enemies?" 

"  I  would  teach  them  friendship.  My  affection  for  the  dead 
would  make  me  more  desirous  to  benefit  the  living." 

"  And  if  they  would  not  be  conciliated — if  upon  the  broad 
earth  you  had  not  an  answering  spirit  ?" 

"  I  should  die  !" 

"  How  then  do  I  live  ?"  nearly  burst  from  Ida's  heart,  but 
she  smothered  it,  and  replied,  "  It  is  easier  to  speak  of  death 
than  to  brave  it." 

«  Death  !  did  I  say  death  ?"  exclaimed  Carry.  « I  saw  life 
as  it  would  be  were  I  bereft  of  father,  sister,  friends — and  I  said 
truly  that  it  would  not  be  worth  the  keeping — but  death  !  I 
would  not  rush  on  that !  I  have  such  a  horror  of  the  winding- 
sheet  and  the  worm!"  She  shivered. 

"  Yet  you  like  to  be  here  ?" 

"  Yes.  This  is  a  sunny,  cheerful  place,  with  no  fresh  graves 
to  remind  one  that  the  work  of  destruction  is  still  going  on.  I 
love  life.  Others  may  expose  its  deceits,  and  weep  above  its 
withered  blooms;  I  see  blue  sky  where  they  fancy  clouds.  It 
is  the  day — the  time  for  action  and  enjoyment;  who  would 
hasten  the  coming  of  the  night — impenetrable — dawnless  !" 

" '  To  die — and  go— we  know  not  where  !' " 

quoted  Ida.  "  That  line  conveys  all  that  I  fear  in  death.  (  There 
have  been  seasons  when  the  uncertainty  shrouding  the  abyss 
beyond  alone  prevented,  my  courting  its  embrace.  Were  it 
eternal  forgetfulness,  how  grateful  would  be  its  reposeT)  Looking 
around  me  here,  I  think  of  calm  sleepers  under  these  stones, 
hands  folded  meekly  upon  bosoms  that  will  never  heave  again ; 
of  aching  heads  and  wearied  spirits  at  rest  forever." 
4 


A  LON  4. 

"  You  are  too  young  to  covet  this  dreamless  slumber,"  said 
Carry  "  With  your  talents  and  facilities  you  have  a  work  to 
do  in  this  world." 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  and  for  whom  ?" 

"  Why — for  every  body." 

"  Too  wide  a  scope — define.  For  exampla,  what  are  my  school- 
duties,  setting  aside  my  studies  ?" 

"  We  can  help  each  other,"  was  the  modest  rejoinder.  "  We 
can  impart  pleasure,  and  avoid  giving  pain.  Not  a  day  passes 
in  which  we  cannot  add  a  drop  of  sweet  to  the  appointed  draught 
of  some  one  of  our  fellow-creatures." 

"Apropos  to  honey — it  suggests  its  opposite,  gall,  and  our 
ci-devant  professor.  I  have  not  thanked  you  for  your  generous 
interference  in  my  behalf,  on  the  day  of  our  fracas,"  said  Ida, 
with  an  ease  and  cordiality  that  surprised  herself. 

"  You  magnify  the  favor.  I  spoke  the  truth.  To  withhold 
it  would  have  been  dishonesty." 

"  Dishonesty !" 

"  Your  character  for  veracity  was  assailed.  I  had  the  proof 
which  would  establish  it.  I  should  have  felt  like  a  receiver  of 
stolen  goods  had  I  concealed  it." 

"  Moreover,  to  your  philanthropy,  I  was  not  an  individual, 
but  the  impersonation  of  the  sisterhood ;"  said  Ida,  jestingly. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  returned  Carry,  in  a  like  strain.  "  You  remem- 
ber the  <  Young  Ladies'  Female  meeting.' " 

"  That  was  a  piece  of  Ellen  Morris'  grandiloquence.  Do  you 
know,  I  envy  that  girl  her  faculty  of  creating  mirth  wherever 
she  goes !" 

"  I  had  rather  be  Emma  Glenn,"  said  Carry.  "  One  is  witty, 
the  other  affectionate,  and  they  will  receive  respectively  admira- 
tion and  love." 

"  I  do  not  quite  agree  with  you.  Ellen's  high  spirits  will 
carry  her  through  many  a  sharp  battle,  from  which  Emma's 
sensitive  nature  would  never  recover.  To  combat  with  the 
world  one  should  have  no  heart;  and  I  heard  a  clergyman  once 
say  that  a  woman  had  no  use  for  sense." 

Carry  laughed.  "  Between  you,  you  would  represent  us  as  a 
superfluous  creation.  Yet  woman  has  her  sphere,  no  less  than 
man ;  and  if  he  conquers  in  his  by  might  of  purpose  and  brute 


ALONE.  39 

strength,  she  guides,  instead  of  rules  in  hers,  by  love  and  sub- 
mission. As  for  the  world,  that  semi-fabulous  ogre,  supposed 
to  live  somewhere,  all  out  of  doors,  whose  cold  charities  are  pro- 
verbial ;  who  eats  up  widow's  houses,  and  grinds  the  poor ;  we 
have  no  dealings  with  it.  It  is,  to  my  notion,  an  innocent  bug- 
bear, kept  by  the  men,  to  prevent  us  from  meddling  in  their 
business  matters ;  and  to  melt  flinty-hearted  wives  into  pity  for 
one,  who  has  been  fighting  this  monster  all  day,  and  has  now  to 
drink  smoked  tea,  and  eat  burnt  toast  for  supper." 

"  Are  you  ever  sad  ?"  questioned  Ida. 

"  Not  often,  why  do  you  ask  ?" 

tl  You  appear  so  light-hearted.  I  was  at  a  loss  to  determine 
whether  it  was  natural  or  feigned." 

"  My  spirits  are  good,  chiefly  from  habit,  I  believe.  My 
father  is  remarkably  cheerful.  It  is  a  maxim  of  his,  that  we 
are  unjust,  when  we  cause  others  to  do  penance  for  our  humors  ; 
they  have  trouble  enough  of  their  own  to  bear.  Controlling  the 
manifestations  of  temper  and  discontent,  is  generally  followed 
by  the  suppression  of  the  feelings  themselves.  It  has  been  so 
with  me." 

"  See  that  burlesque  of  life  !"  said  Ida,  pointing.  "  Children 
turning  somersets  upon  a  tomb-stone  !" 

The  tomb  was  built  with  four  brick  walls,  supporting  a 
horizontal  tablet;  and  upon  this  flat  surface,  the  irreverent 
youngsters  were  gambolling.  One,  the  most  agile,  and  the 
leader  of  the  troop,  was,  as  she  spoke,  in  the  act  of  performing 
a  vehemently  encored  feat,  viz. :  throwing  two  somersets  upon 
the  marble,  another  in  transits  for  the  ground,  and  a  fourth, 
after  landing  upon  the  turf.  Two  were  accomplished  in  safety, 
the  third  was  a  flying  leap,  and  he  did  not  move  afterwards. 
The  children  screamed,  and  the  girls  ran  to  the  spot.  In  fall- 
ing, he  had  struck  his  head  against  a  stone,  and  was  senseless, 
the  blood  gushing  from  a  wound  in,  or  near  the  temple.  Carry 
rested  his  head  upon  her  arm,  and  with  nervous  haste,  unbut- 
toned his  collar.  «  Where  are  his  parents  ?"  inquired  Ida.  But 
they  only  cried  the  louder.  «  I  fear  he  is  killed  I"  said  Carry. 
Ida  shook  her  purse  at  the  terrified  group.  "  Who  will  bring 
me  a  doctor, — who,  his  mother  ?"  Her  collected  manner  tended 
to  quiet  them,  as  much  as  the  clink  of  coin.  Half-a-dozen 


40  ALONE. 

scampered  in  as  many  directions,  and  she  ordered  the  rest  off, 
without  ceremony.  There  was  no  rebellion.  Each  had  a  mis- 
giving  that  he  was  to  blame  for  the  casualty,  and  they  were 
glad  to  skulk  away. 

The  handkerchief  which  Carry  held  to  the  gash,  was  saturated, 
and  Ida  supplied  hers.  He  showed  no  sign  of  life,  except  that 
Ida  imagined  that  she  detected  a  feeble  fluttering  of  the  heart. 
Carry  wept  as  though  her  heart  would  break.  "  Poor  little  fellow  I" 
she  exclaimed  repeatedly.  Ida  did  not  shed  a  tear,  but  her  com- 
pressed lips  and  contracted  brow  said  this  did  not  proceed  from 
insensibility.  « I  cannot  bear  this  suspense,"  she  said.  "  I  will 
look  for  a  doctor  myself,  if  you  are  not  afraid  to  stay  here  alone." 

"  No,  go  I" 

She  met  the  medical  man  at  the  gate.  It  was  Mr.  Read's 
family  physician,  who  chanced  to  be  in  the  neighborhood.  "Oh, 
Dr.  Ballard  I"  exclaimed  Ida.  "  1  am  rejoiced  to  see  you  I" 

"  And  I  am  always  happy  to  meet  Miss  Ross — but  what  is 
this  about  a  boy  killed  ?  None  of  your  friends,  I  hope." 

Ida  explained,  as  she  led  him  to  the  scene  of  the  disaster.  It 
seemed  ill-timed  to  the  agitated  girls,  to  see  him  touch  his  hat, 
with  grave  courtesy,  to  Carry,  as  he  stooped  to  make  an  examina- 
tion. <'  He  is  not  dead,"  he  said,  feeling  the  pulse  and  heart; 
"  but  it  came  near  being  an  awkward  hurt.  Miss  Ross,  I  will 
trouble  you  to  call  one  of  those  boys,  and  send  him  for  my  ser- 
vant, who  is  in  the  street  with  my  carriage.  If  I  only  had  some 
soft  linen  I"  looking  around.  Ida  took  an  embroidered  scarf 
from  her  neck.  He  tore  it  into  strips,  rolled  them  into  a  ball, 
and  bound  it  tightly  upon  the  cut.  «  Where  does  he  live  ?"  he 
asked. 

The.  information  was  furnished  by  the  boy's  mother,  who 
hurried  up  at  this  instant.  She,  with  her  reviving  son,  were  put 
into  the  carriage,  and  the  doctor  stepped  in  after  them. 

The  girls  had  no  inclination  to  linger  in  the  church-yard. 
The  conversation,  during  their  walk,  ran  upon  the  accident; 
but  as  they  parted  at  the  corner  of  the  streets  diverging  to  their 
separate  abodes,  Carry  expressed  a  strong  desire  for  the  con- 
tinuation of  the  acquaintance.  "  We  have  had  an  odd  talk  this 
morning ;"  said  she  smiling ;  "  I  would  not  have  you  regard  it 
as  a  fair  sample  of  my  conversational  powers." 


ALONE.  41 

Ida  walked  homeward  with  a  lightened  fjpirit.  "  Odd"  as  was 
their  talk,  and  alarming  as  was  the  incident  which  interrupted 
it,  .she  was  better  for  both.  There  was  a  charm  in  Carry's 
frankness,  which  beguiled  her  confidence,  and  her  cheerful  phi- 
losophy was  a  pleasant,  if  not  a  prudent  rule,  for  making  one's 
way  in  life.  She  dwelt  upon  her  declaration,  that  each  day 
brought  its  opportunities  for  benevolent  deeds;  and  her  con- 
science responded  joyfully  to  the  appeal,  "Have  I  contributed 
iny  drop  of  sweet  to-day?"  by  pointing  to  her  exertions  for  the 
relief  of  the  unknown  sufferer.  Carry  had  praised  her  presence 
of  mind,  and  the  doctor  complimented  her  warmly.  "If  I  have 
not  given  pleasure,  I  have  mitigated  pain." 

The  struck  chord  ceased  to  vibrate  as  she  reached  the  house 
where  she  had  suffered  and  learned  so  much.  When  she  came 
down  to  dinner,  she  was  impassive  and  distant.  Mr.  Read  vouch- 
safed to  inquire  if  she  had  seen  Mr.  Dermott.  She  replied  in 
the  negative. 

"  I  thought  there  was  an  arrangement  to  that  effect  ;"  said  he, 
sneeringly. 

"  I  addressed  a  note  to  him  which  made  his  call  unnecessary." 

11 1  do  not  presume  to  meddle  with  your  correspondence,  Miss 
Ross;"  with  "immense"  stiffness;  "but  I  trust  neither  my  name, 
or  that  of  my  daughter  was  contained  in  that  communication." 

"I  am  responsible  for  my  actions,  sir;  it  is  certain  I  never 
thought  of  referring  them  to  your  influence.  I  suppose  Mr. 
Dermott  is  satisfied, — 1a.m." 


CHAPTER    V. 

MR.  PURCELL,  himself  an  able  connoisseur  and  liberal  patron 
of  the  fine  arts,  never  suffered  a  suitable  occasion  to  pass,  without 
endeavoring  to  implant,  and  cultivate  like  tastes  in  his  pupils. 
No  "Exhibition"  or  Collection  was  recommended  unadvisedly. 
He  justly  considered  a  relish  for  a  vicious  or  false  style,  worse 
than  none.  So  well  was  this  known,  that  the  girls  were  equally 
4* 


42  ALONE. 

eager  to  examine  what  he  esteemed  worthy  of  their  inspection, 
and  to  avoid  that  which  he  condemned.  An  artist  visited  the 
city,  and  advertised  a  set  of  "choice  paintings,  on  exhibition  for 
a  few  days."  They  were  much  talked  of,  and  the  scholars  impa- 
tiently listened  for  the  verdict  of  their  principal.  There  were 
many  smiling  faces,  when  he  announced,  that  he  accepted,  with 
pleasure,  the  polite  invitation  of  the  artist  to  himself  and  the 
members  of  his  school.  "  The  pictures  were  the  work  of  a  master 
hand; — he  recommended  them  to  their  careful  study."  That 
afternoon,  the  studio  was  full.  Some  went  from  curiosity;  some 
to  be  in  the  fashion;  comparatively  a  small  number  through 
genuine  love  for  the  art.  Among  the  latter  class  was  Ida 
Koss.  Bestowing  little  notice  upon  her  acquaintances  present, 
she  passed  around  the  room,  intent  upon  the  object  which  had 
drawn  her  thither.  She  was  not  disturbed ;  her  reserve  repelled, 
and  her  intellectual  superiority  awed ;  she  knew — and  they  knew 
that  though  with,  she  was  not  of  them;  as  an  institution,  they 
were  proud  of  her;  as  individuals,  with  a  very  few  exceptions, 
they  disliked  and  envied  her. 

The  proprietor,  or  a  gentleman,  supposed  to  be  he,  was  at  a 
desk,  writing.  He  must  have  possessed  the  power  of  abstraction 
in  an  extraordinary  degree ;  for  the  chattering  about  him  resem- 
bled the  confabulations  of  a  flock  of  magpies,  more  than  the  con- 
versation of  decorous  young  ladies.  Groups  came  and  departed; 
and  Ida  did  not  mark  the  changes,  until,  diverted  from  the  con- 
templation of  a  splendid  landscape  by  the  sound  of  her  own 
name, — she  perceived  a  group  near  by,  composed  of  four  or  five 
girls  and  as  many  young  men,  none  of  them  her  well-wishers  or 
admirers ; — their  attention  divided  between  herself,  and  a  sketch 
of  St.  John's  church.  Josephine  was  the  magnet  of  the  circle, 
and  behind  her,  was  the  smirking  Pemberton.  A  single  glance 
took  in  all  this,  and  features  and  expression  were  immobile  a? 
before.  It  was  Josephine's  voice  she  had  heard ; — its  tones 
higher  than  usual.  She  neither  desired,  nor  affected  conceal- 
ment. 

"  As  I  was  saying,  the  church-yard  has  been  converted  into  a 
gymnasium.  The  cry  is  no  longer,  '  Liberty  or  Death !' — but 
'  Leap  Frog  or  die  !'  " 

A  general  cachinnation  applauded  this  felicitous  hit. 


ALONE.  43 

"  On  Saturday  last" — continued  the  narrator — "  the  unri- 
valled troupe  were  in  the  midst  of  one  of  their  most  elaborate 
performances,  encouraged  by  the  presence — I  am  not  sure,  but 
assisted  by  a  select  company  of  spectators.  I  need  only  specify 
Miss  Ross  and  friend,  name  unknown — to  assure  you  of  the  high 
respectability  of  the  assemblage.  Smiled  upon  by  beauty,  and 
animated  to  superhuman  exertions  by  soft  glances  from  one,  per- 
chance too  dear  to  his  youthful  heart, — the  chief  of  the  band 
threw  his  whole  soul  into  his  lofty  undertaking,  and  alas !  his 
body,  also !  He  arose,  like  the  Phoenix,  from  the  ashes  below, 
but  to  seek  the  earth  again,  having  fallen  from  the  frightful 
height  of  three  feet.  He  lay  upon  the  sod  without  sense  or 
motion.  The  spectators  pressed  around, — but,  breaking  through 
the  throng,  came  the  fair  nymphs  aforesaid.  One  pillowed  his 
head  upon  her  arm,  and  drenched  his  dusty  brow  with  tears ;  her 
comrade  wrung  her  hands,  and  shrieked  for  <  help  !  lest  he  die  !' 
The  crowd,  at  a  respectful  distance,  looked  on ;  venturing  a  whis- 
per, now  and  then,  to  the  purport  that  <  it  was  as  good  as  a  play, 
and  cost  nothing.'  Warm  brine  and  sounding  air  are  poor  medi- 
cines for  a  cracked  skull;  and  the  sufferer  remaining  insensible, 
a  frantic  damsel  was  seen,  vaulting  over  tomb-stones,  bonnetless 
and  shawlless,  on  the  most  direct  route  to  the  gate.  A  gallant 
man  of  healing  was  passing,  and  him  she  conducted  to  the  pros- 
trate hero.  Handkerchiefs  and  scarfs  were  stripped  from  necks 
and  arms  to  staunch  the  trickling  gore ;  and  supported  by  his 
affectionate  nurses,  the  interesting  youth  gained  his  carriage. 
Miss  Eoss  returned  home  with  swollen  eyes  and  downcast  air. 
The  afternoon,  evening,  and  most  of  the  next  day  were  spent  in 
retirement.  This  was  a  grief  sympathy  could  not  assuage." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  of  it  ?"  asked  one. 

"'No.  Madam  Rumor  is  my  informant,  and  her  story  is 
vouched  for  by  a  gentleman,  an  eye  witness  of  the  catastrophe." 

In  this  lamentable  caricature,  there  was  so  little  truth,  and  so 
much  less  wit,  that  it  should  have  been  beneath  the  contempt  of 
her,  at  whom  it  was  aimed ;  but  the  ridicule  was  public.  Her 
bonnet  hid  her  face,  but  the  angry  blood  surged  over  her  neck  in 
crimsoa  streams.  There  was  vengeful  fury  enough  in  the 
grasp,  which  drove  the  nails  through  the  paper  she  held,  into 
the  palm,  to  have  swept  the  tittering  clique  from  the  earth  at  u 


44  ALONE. 

stroke  Whatever  purposo  of  retaliation  sprang  into  life,  it  was 
nipped  in  the  bud.  The  desk  of  the  supposed  artist  was  in  a 
niche ;  and  the  projecting  wall  Concealed  it  from  the  view  of  the 
party.  He  was  almost  in  front  of  her ;  and  her  burning  eyes 
were  arrested  as  they  encountered  his.  There  was  no  scorn,  or 
none  for  her,  in  that  regard ;  but  warning,  interest  and  inquiry 
were  blended  with  such  earnestness,  that,  like  the  charmed  bird, 
nhe  could  not  move  or  look  away.  Even  when  he  cast  his  eyes 
upon  his  work  again,  she  did  not,  at  once,  withdraw  hers.  He 
might  have  been  thirty  ;  was  pale,  and  not  handsome,  yet  any- 
thing but  ordinary  in  his  appearance.  If  his  countenance  had 
betrayed  emotion  the  previous  moment,  it  vanished  as  his  pen 
began  to  move.  He  was  the  automaton  scribe,  and  the  subdued 
Ida,  drawing  her  shawl  around  her,  quitted  the  place,  without 
exchanging  a  syllable  with  any  one. 

The  spell  of  the  silent  rebuke  was  speedily  dissolved,  yet  she 
was  grateful  that  it  had  restrained  her  hasty  retort.  The  heated 
in  a  quarrel,  are  always  the  defeated.  Morbid  sensibility  is  the 
engendcrer  of  suspicion, — and  vice  versa ;  the  two  act  and  react, 
until  a  smile,  a  look,  is  the  foundation  of  weeks — it  may  be,  of 
years  of  wretchedness.  To  such  a  mind,  ridicule  is  a  venomed 
dart,  piercing  and  poisoning,  and  pride  but  inflames  the  wound. 
Dr.  Ballard  had  showed  the  courtesy  of  a  gentleman,  and  the 
kindness  of  a  friend  in  his  entercourse  with  Ida.  Unconsciously, 
she  had  come  to  like,  almost  to  trust  him — and  this  was  at  an 
end.  He,  and  he,  only,  could  have  provided  the  outline  of  the 
narrative  she  had  heard.  She  set  her  teeth  hard,  as  she  recalled 
her  agitated  greeting  at  the  gate;  and  his  composure;  her 
subsequent  offers  of  assistance — "officious" — she  called  them 
now, — and  his  calm  acceptance.  But  it  was  base  and  unmanly, 
to  make  capital  for  sport  of  the  weakness  of  a  woman — a  child, 
compared  with  himself !  «  They  are  all  alike — I  must  believe 
it !  with  hearts  rotten  to  the  core  !  Heaven  have  mercy  on  me, 
until  I  am  as  callous  as  they  !"  And  when  he  called,  at  some 
personal  inconvenience,  to  impart  the  intelligence  of  her 
"  protege's"  recovery,  she  met  him  with  a  haughtiness  that  sur- 
prised and  angered  him ;  and  his  futile  attempt  to  throw  down 
the  barrier,  resulted  in  his  cutting  short  the  interview.  He  had 
told  Mr.  Read  of  Ida's  adventure  ;  but  not  in  the  spirit  in  which 


ALONE.  45 

its  events  were  coarsely  retailed.  He  lauded  her  kindness  and 
self-possession,  in  terms  too  extravagant  to  suit  the  zero  humanity 
of  her  guardian's  narrow  soul ;— -as  he  wound  up  the  story  to  his 
daughter — he  "  was  not  a  man  to  get  up  a  fit  of  heroics,  and  had 
no  idea  that  Ballard  had  so  much  palaver  about  him." 

If  his  vile  doctrine  were  indeed  true,  if  all  men  were  alike, 
and  like  him,  who  of  us  would  not  unite  in  the  orphan's  prayer 
— would  not  cry,  with  her,  in  despairing  bitterness,  "  Heaven 
have  mercy  upon  us,  until  we  are  as  callous  as  they  !" 

She  had  no  mercy  upon  herself.  There  was  an  unholy  joy  in 
ruthlessly  trampling  upon  the  few  flowers  that  grew  in  her  path  : 
the  ebullition  of  a  desperate  despair,  as  when  one  is  tortured  by 
a  raging  tooth,  he  probes,  and  grinds  and  shakes  the  offending 
member,  self-inflicting  yet  more  exquisite  pain,  but  bearing  it 
better,  under  the  insane  impression  that  he  is  wreaking  revenge 
upon  its  cause ;  saying,  with  the  poor  Dutchman,  "  ache  on ! 
ache  on  !  I  can  stand  it  as  long  as  you  can  I"  And  "ache  on  ! 
ache  on  !"  said  Ida  to  her  heart,  "  the  nerve  will  be  dead  by  and 
by!" 

We  consign  to  the  lower  pit  of  darkness  the  bloody  demons, 
cloaked  in  priestly  stole,  and  "  speaking  great,  swelling  words  of 
wisdom"  and  peace,  who  tore  limb  from  limb  upon  the  rack,  in 
"  zeal  for  the  Faith  !"  but  for  him  who  pours  out  his  atheistical 
misanthropy, — deadening,  petrifying  the  soul,  and  blinding  the 
eyes,  until  in  this,  our  lovely  earth,  they  see  but  a  mighty  char- 
nel-house, full  of  nameless  abominations ;  who  traduces  God,  in 
despising  His  noblest  work,  and  says  :  "  Behold  the  Truth  !"  the 
murderer  of  the  heart, — what  shall  be  his  portion  ! 

Carry  Carleton's  liking  for  the  company  of  "that  proud, 
disagreeable  girl,"  and  her  defence  of  her  when  attacked,  was  a 
nine  days'  wonder.  True,  «  she  loved  everybody,"  but  here  she 
manifested  partiality,  far  more  than  accorded  with  her  school- 
mates' notions  of  justice  and  reason.  Carry  was  unwavering. 
"  I  lika»her,"  said  she,  one  recess,  when  her  corps  of  affectionate 
teazers  hung  on  and  about  her.  "It  wounds  me  to  hear  you 
speak  disparagingly  of  her.  You  must  admit  that  she  has 
redeeming  traits.  She  is  one  of  our  best  scholars,  and  if  in- 
accessible, is  upright  and  honorable,  and  will  not  stoop  to  do  an 
ignoble  action." 


46  ALONE. 

"  Yes/'  said  Etnrna  Glenn,  happy  to  add  her  mite  of  praise, 
"Don't  you  remember  she  found  Julia  Mason's  composition 
behind  a  desk  in  the  cloak  room,  and  brought  it  in  examination 
day,  although  she  knew  that  she  was  her  most  dangerous  com- 
petitor for  the  prize  ?  I'm  afraid  I  should  have  been  tempted  to 
keep  it,  or  leave  it  where  it  was." 

"I  should  not  be  afraid  to  trust  you,  dear/'  said  Carry. 
"  You  are  too  ready  to  commend  such  conduct  in  others,  to  act  a 
contrary  part  yourself.  As  for  Ida — have  any  of  you  reflected 
how  much  of  what  you  call  her  pride  you  are  accountable  for  1" 

"  We  !  how  ?"  was  the  unanimous  exclamation. 

"  I  know  my  misdeeds  are  legion,  and  my  good  works,  like 
Parson  Wilkins'  text,  <  way  off  and  hard  to  find/  but  '  evil,' 
indeed,  as  well  as  '  few,  have  been  the  years  of  my  pilgrimage/ 
if  I  had  anything  to  do  with  the  'formation  of  Ida  Ross'  char- 
acter I". said  Ellen  Morris,  clasping  her  hands  deprecatingly. 

«  Ellen  !  Ellen  !"  remonstrated  Carry,  «  think  what  effect  a 
remark  like  that  would  produce !  Would  it  increase  her  confi- 
dence in  you  or  us  ?  Would  she  not  avoid  us  more  then  ever  ? 
She  is  an  orphan,  and  should  be  dealt  with  more  charitably,  than 
if  her  feelings  had  expanded  in  a  home  like  yours." 

"You  do  not  believe  she  could  love  anybody  !"  said  one  of  the 
group. 

«  Certainly  I  do,  and  I  mean  she  shall  love  me.  You  would 
make  the  same  resolution,  if  you  knew  her  as  I  do." 

"  An  idea  strikes  me,  Carry,"  said  the  incorrigible  Ellen 

"  She  and  we  have  affinity  for  each  other — water  and  oil — you 
are  the  alkali,  which  is  to  reconcile  us;  we  shall  be  a  soap 
manufactory,  to  cleanse  and  regenerate  the  world." 

"  A  little  vinegar  facilitates  the  process,  does  it  not  ?"  asked 
Carry,  good-humoredly. 

"  You  have  come  to  a  poor  market  for  it,  my  good  Alkali; 
upon  second  thoughts,  you  must  leave  me  out  of  the  combination 
altogether — salt,  Attic,  particularly,  being  detrimental  to  the 
integrity  of  the  article  in  question." 

"  Soap  boiling  and  Attica  !"  said  Anna  Talbot,  who  was  read- 
ing a  little  apart,  « your  conversation  takes  an  extended  range 
to-day,  young  ladies." 

"  Both  are  warm  places,"  returned  Ellen.    "  Our  imaginations 


ALONE.  47 

needed  thawing  after  perching  so  long  upon  the  North  Polo, 
id  cst,  Ida  Ross." 

"  You  have  offended  Carry,"  said  Emma,  apprehensively,  as 
the  former  walked  towards  the  other  room. 

"  Not  offended,  but  grieved,"  she  replied,  with  sweet  gravity. 
"I  should  not  love  Ellen  as  I  do,  if  I  did  not  believe  her  heart 
to  be  ofteuer  in  the  right  place  than  her  tongue." 

She  passed  into  the  recitation  room,  and  there,  her  head  bent 
upon  a  desk,  was  Ida  !  Carry  was  transfixed  with  dismay.  Tho 
door  was  a-jar — she  had  heard  it  all !  But  the  relaxed  limbs — 
the  unmoving  figure — was  she  then  asleep  ?  A  minute's  stay 
'  confirmed  this  opinion ;  and  greatly  relieved,  she  tripped  lightly 
out  by  another  door.  Ida  did  not  sleep.  She  had  left  the  larger 
room  at  the  close  of  morning  recitations,  seeking  in  the  com- 
parative quiet  of  this,  some  ease  from  a  severe  headache.  She 
did  not  think  of  concealment.  After  the  gossip  of  the  thought- 
less circle  turned  upon  herself,  she  still  supposed  that  her 
vicinity  was  known ;  that  their  pretended  unconsciousness  was  a 
covering  for  a  renewal  of  mortifications.  To  move  would  have 
been  matter  for  triumph,  she  was  not  disposed  to  supply.  So 
unjust  does  suspicion  make  us  ! 

Carry's  disinterested  vindication  electrified  her.  To  risk  the 
forfeiture  of  the  favor  of  the  many,  for  one  who  had  never  con- 
ferred an  obligation — whose  good  will  could  profit  her  nothing  ! 
in  her  experience,  the  act  lacked  a  parallel.  "  Can  it  be,"  she 
thought,  with  stirring  pulses,  "  can  it  be  that  I  may  yet  find  a 
friend?"  then,  as  Carry's  "I  am  resolved  she  shall  love  me," 
reached  her,  she  bowed  in  thankfulness.  "  I  will  trust !  will 
stake  my  last  hope  of  ever  meeting  a  kindred  spirit  upon  this 
throw — will  let  her  love  me  if  she  will,  so  help  me  God  !"  It 
was  no  light  vow. 

Carry's  intrusion  was  unobserved ;  she  was  only  sensible  of  the 
incalescence  of  her  frozen  heart.  The  afternoon  was  cloudy, 
and  her  maid  was  surprised  to  see  her  mistress  preparing  for  her 
promenade. 

"Indeed,  Miss  Ida,  you'll  get  caught  in  the  shower;  'twont 
be  no  little  sprinkle,  neither.  When  its  starts  to  rain  this  time 
o'  year,  it  never  holds  up." 

"  Oh,  well !"  returned  Ida,  familiarly,  « if  we  have  another 


48  ALONE. 

deluge,  I  may  as  well  be  out  of  doors  as  in.  But  give  me  my 
cloak,  Rachel,  I  must  have  a  short  run  before  it  sets  in." 

Josephine  crossed  the  hall  as  she  was  going  out.  She  stared, 
but  made  no  remark  upon  her  unseasonable  excursion.  It  was 
less  wonderful  than  the  smile  and  nod  she  received.  "It  is 
pleasant,"  said  Ida  to  herself,  "yet  they  talked  of  rain!"  But 
the  siorm  was  -not  to  be  delayed  by  inward  sunshine.  The 
smoky  fog  grew  denser;  through  the  ominous  calm  which  per- 
vaded the  city,  the  roaring  of  the  distant  "  Falls"  was  distinctly 
audible ;  cows  stood,  solemnly  herded  together,  the  vapor  from 
their  nostrils  scarcely  thicker  than  the  surrounding  atmosphere ; 
and  an  occasional  rain-drop  trickling  down  their  roughened 
hides.  Then  the  pavement  was  spotted  with  the  precursors  of 
the  prognosticated  deluge,  and  a  dash  of  spray  into  Ida's  face 
restored  her  to  the  perception  of  her  actual  position  :  a  mile  from 
home,  night  and  a  tempest  approaching.  Ere  a  dozen  steps 
were  retraced,  she  was  met  by  the  shower, — November  rain, 
cutting  and  numbing  as  hail.  Her  veil,  flimsy  defence  for  her 
face,  was  dripping  in  a  moment,  and  the  water  streamed  in 
miniature  cascades  from  her  bonnet  and  shoulders.  Bewildered 
and  dizzy,  she  sprang,  without  a  thought,  except  the  instinct 
of  self-preservation,  into  the  shelter  of  a  friendly  porch.  She 
laughed,  despite  her  uneasiness  at  her  situation.  "  Wet,  not 
quite  to  the  skin,  but  more  damp  than  is  comfortable ;  sans 
umbrella,  over-shoes,  carriage  or  servant,  and  where,  I  cannot 
precisely  determine." 

"Walk  in,  do!"  said  a  pleasant  voice  behind  her.  A  lady 
was  holding  the  open  door.  "I  thank  you,"  Ida  began,  when  a 
figure  glanced  out  of  the  entry.  "  Why,  Ida  !  my  dear  creature  ! 
how  wet  you  are !  don't  stand  there  a  moment.  I  am  so  glad 
you  ran  in  !  This  is  my  sister,  Mrs.  Dana — my  friend,  Miss 
Ross — now  we  will  go  directly  up  stairs,  and  take  off  your  damp 
things  !"  and  in  the  confusion  of  congratulations  and  regrets,  Ida 
did  not  know  where  she  was,  until  she  was  seated  in  Carry's 
room ;  both  sisters  occupied  in  divesting  her  of  such  portions  of 
her  apparel,  as  were  likely,  by  their  humidity,  to  endanger  her 
health. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  cannot  wait  to  have 
these  dried.  I  must  go  home." 


ALONE.  49 

"  Impossible  !"  cried  the  impulsive  Carry.  "  I  will  not  hear 
of  it.  Just  make  up  your  mind  to  stay  in  your  present  quarters 
until  clear  weather." 

"  Let  me  insist  upon  your  staying,  Miss  Ross ;"  said  Mrs. 
Dana.  "  I  will  send  a  messenger  to  your  friends  to  inform  them 
of  your  safety." 

"  She  will  stay,"  said  Carry,  looking  very  positive. 

Ida  yielded  with  secret  pleasure.  Her  guardian  angel  must 
have  guided  her  into  this  haven.  Mrs.  Dana  was  Carry's  senior 
by  ten  years  or  more,  and  resembled  her  more  in  voice  and  man- 
ner, than  feature.  They  had  the  same  kind  eyes  and  dimpling 
smile.  Having  seen  her  guest  comfortable,  she  gave  her  into 
Carry's  charge,  and  went  to  forward  her  message  to  Mr.  Read. 
"  How  it  rains  !"  said  Carry,  drawing  aside  the  curtain.  "  It  ia 
lucky  you  came  when  you  did.  Did  you  know  we  lived  here  ?" 

"  No,  it  was  entirely  accidental.  I  was  walking,  and  did  not 
notice  the  clouds  until  the  shower  came  ;  then  I  took  refuge  in 
the  nearest  house." 

"A  happy  accident  for  me,"  said  Carry.  "I  despaired  of 
ever  persuading  you  to  visit  me.  This  storm  was  sent  for  my 
express  benefit.  Sister  and  I  are  never  tired  of  each  other's 
company;  but  the  little  ones  demand  much  of  her  time; 
and  brother  John — Mr.  Dana,  often  brings  home  writing,  or 
is  detained  at  the  store  late  at  night,  in  the  busy  season,  and 
I  am  rather  lonely." 

"  You  are  bent  upon  convincing  me  that  all  the  obligation  is 
on  your  side/'  returned  Ida :  "  but  compare  the  mermaid-like 
fright  which  -  shocked  you,  with  the  decent  young  lady  before 
you  now,  and  recollect  that  my  gratitude  is  proportionate  to  the 
improvement." 

A  pretty  little  girl,  about  five  years  old,  crept  into  the  room. 

"Come  to  aunt.  Elle !"  said  Carry.  "And  speak  to  this 
lady." 

The  child  came  up  timidly  to  Ida,  and  slid  her  plump  hand 
into  hers.  She  did  not  struggle,  as  she  lifted  her  into  her  lap, 
but  looked  steadfastly  at  her  with  her  soft  black  eyes.  "  What 
is  your  name  ?"  asked  Ida. 

"  Elinor  Dana,"  she  answered,  in  her  clear,  childish  voice. 
5 


50  ALONE. 

"  Elinor  I"  repeated  Ida,  and  the  little  one  felt  herself  pressed 
more  closely  to  her  breast." 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?"  inquired  Carry. 

"  It  was  my  mother's  name  I"  was  the  low  reply.  Elle  put 
up  her  lips  for  a  kiss.  She  saw  a  pained  look  flit  over  the 
countenance  of  the  visitor,  and  administered  the  only  panacea 
she  possessed. 

"  Is  she  your  sister's  eldest  child  ?"  asked  Ida,  repaying  the 
caress. 

"  Yes.  She  has  two  younger  j  a  boy  and  a  girl.  The  babe  is 
my  namesake." 

"  My  brother  is  named  Charles  Arthur  ;  after  uncle  Charley 
and  uncle  Arthur,"  ventured  Elle. 

«  And  you  love  him  very  dearly, — do  you  not  ?"  said  Ida. 

"  Yes  ma'am ;  I  love  papa  and  mamma,  and  aunt  Carry,  and 
uncle  Charley,  and  uncle  Arthur,  and  grandpa,  and  sister  and 
brother,"  said  the  child,  running  over  the  names  with  a  volu- 
bility that  showed  how  used  she  was  to  the  repetition. 

"  Will  you  love  me  too  ?"  asked  Ida.  The  anxiety  with  which 
she  awaited  the  reply  will  not  be  sneered  at  by  those  who  have 
been,  like  her,  starvelings  in  affection. 

"  Yes,  you  too,  but  I  don't  know  what  to  call  you." 

"  My  name  is  Ida." 

"  Miss  Ida,  or  cousin  Ida?'' 

"  Cousin  I"  exclaimed  Ida,  catching  at  the  word.  "  Call  me 
cousin !" 

"  Elle  claims  as  relatives,  all  whom  she  loves,"  observed  Carry; 
"  and  we  encourage  her  in  the  practice.  Miss  is  formal ;  and  the 
absence  of  any  such  prefix  gives  a  disrespectful  air  to  a  child's 
address." 

"  She  speaks  of  her  uncles.     Have  you  brothers  ?" 

"  She  alludes  to  Mr.  Dana's  brothers,"  said  Carry,  with  a 
slight  blush,  which  Ida  remembered  afterwards.  "They  were 
wards  of  my  father's;  and  we  regard  them  as  a  part  of  the 
family." 

Ida  amused  herself  by  coaxing  forth  Elle's  prattle;  and 
related,  as  reward  for  her  sociability,  a  marvellous  fairy  tale, 
which  expanded  her  eyes  to  their  utmost  circle,  and  interested 
even  Carry.  Mrs.  Dana  entered  at  the  finale. 


ALOE.  51 

"  Papa  has  come,  Elle,  and  would  be  happy  to  see  Miss  Ross. 
Tea  is  ready,  too.  I  hope  she  has  not  annoyed  you," — to  Ida. 

"  Annoyed  !  oh  no,  ma'am  !  we  are  good  friends,  and  have  had 
a  nice. talk,  have  we  not,  darling?" 

Playing  with  a  child  is  a  very  puerile  amusement — what  room 
is  there  for  the  exercise  of  the  reasoning  faculties ;  what  oppor- 
tunity for  gaining  new  views  of  the -world  or  of 'truth?  Still 
Ida  was  happier,  and  ^she  was  silly  enough  to  think,  wiser.  A 
germ  was  set,  which  should  be  developed  by  and  by. 

Mr.  Dana  was  in  the  supper-room.  He  was  tall  and  dark, 
grave-looking  when  silent ;  but  as  he  acknowledged  the  intro- 
duction to  herself,  and  stooped  to  kiss  Elle,  his  smile  rendered 
him  exceedingly  handsome.  The  proud  tenderness  of  his  wife 
was  beautiful  to  behold ;  and  he  unbent  all  that  was  stern  in  his 
nature,  in  her  presence,  or  Carry's.  The  repast  went  off  delight- 
fully. There  were  no  sarcastic  flings  at  society  and  individuals, 
and  clash  of  combat,  imperfectly  drowned  by  courteous  phrase- 
ology, such  as  characterized  similar  occasions  at  Mr.  Read's. 
Free  to  act  and  speak,  without  dread  of  criticism,  Ida  acquitted 
herself  well.  She  and  her  entertainers  were  equally  charmed ; 
and  Carry  sat  by,  contented  with  the  success  of  her  benevolent 
efforts.  Mr.  Dana's  business  required  his  attention  immediately 
after  supper;  Mrs.  Dana  sat  with  the  girls  awhile,  then  repaired 
to  her  nursery.  "We  shall  not  be  troubled  by  visitors  to-night," 
said  Carry.  "  What  say  you  to  adjourning  to  our  chamber  ?  It 
is  more  snug  than  these  empty  parlors." 

They  visited  the  nursery  in  their  way.  Elle  opened  ner  eyes 
as  her  friend  kissed  her  coral  lips,  but  their  lids  fell  again 
directly,  and  her  "good  night"  died  in  a  drowsy  murmur.  The 
boy  was  sleeping  soundly,  and  little  Carry  lay  quietly  wakeful 
upon  her  mother's  lap.  "  These  are  my  treasures,"  said  the 
fond  parent,  smiling  at  Ida's  admiration  of  the  group." 

"  Treasures  she  would  not  barter  for  the  wealth  of  both 
Indies,"  added  Carry.  "  You  are  a  diplomatist,  Ida,  you  have 
found  sister's  blind  side  by  praising  her  pets." 

"  You,  who  are  so  accustomed  to  these  pretty  playthings,  do 
not  know  how  lovely  they  are  to  one  who  is  not  so  favored," 
replied  Ida. 

"Ah!  there  you  are  in  error.     No  one  can  love  the  sweet 


62  ALONE. 

angels  as  I  do,  except  the  mother  who  bore  them.  Now,"  con- 
tinued she,  when  they  were  in  their  room,  taking  from  a  ward- 
robe two  dressing-gowns,  "  I  move  that  we  don  these,  and  make 
ourselves  comfortable  generally." 

And  cozily  comfortable  they  appeared,  ensconced  in  arm- 
chairs, in  front  of  that  most  sparkling  of  coal-fires ;  a  waiter  of 
apples  and  nuts  sent  up  by  thoughtful  Mrs.  Dana,  on  a  stand 
between  them  ;  shutters  and  curtains  closed,  and  the  storm 
roaring  and  driving  without. 

"  I  no  longer  wonder  at  your  cheerfulness,  since  I  have  seen 
your  home/'  said  Ida.  "All  the  good  things  of  life  are  mingled 
in  your  cup." 

"  You  are  right.  I  am  very  happy,  but  not  more  so  than  hun- 
dreds of  others.  My  contentment  would  be  grievously  marred, 
if  I  suspected  this  was  not  so." 

"  Fraternizing  again.  I  have  reflected  and  observed  much 
since  our  talk  in  the  cemetery,  and  am  almost  persuaded  that  you 
have  chosen  the  easiest  method  of  living ;  that  <  where  ignorance 
is  bliss,  'tis  folly  to  be  wise.'  Your  system  has  brought  most 
pleasure  thus  far,  whether  it  will  endure  the  test  of  time  and 
experience,  is  another  question." 

"  You  alarm  me,"  answered  Carry.  "  Your  vague  hints 
excite  my  curiosity,  yet  do  not  indicate  the  description  of  dan- 
gers I  am  to  encounter.  Let  us  understand  each  other — as  the 
Methodist  class-leaders  have  it,  'tell  our  experiences.'  " 

"  Mine  may  be  briefly  summed  up,"  said  Ida,  sadly. 

'  The  frigid  and  unfeeling  thrive  the  best; 
And  a  warm  heart  in  this  cold  world,  is  like 
A  beacon  light; — wasting  its  feeblo  light 
Upon  the  wintry  deep,  that  feels  it  not — 
Trembling  with  each  pitiless  blast  that  blows, 
'Till  its  faint  firo  is  spent.'  " 

"  You  have  known  this  ?"  asked  Carry. 

« In  all  its  bitterness !" 

"  And  the  writer  felt,  or  thought  he  felt  the  foige  of  their 
meaning,  when  "he  penned  the  lines.  Have  you  ever  met  with 
a  warm  heart  besides  your  own  ?" 

"  Yes,  one — the  home  of  excellence  and  .affection." 

"  Then,  '  this  cold  world'  has  produced  three,  to  whom  its 
biting  atmosphere  was  uncongenial — may  there  not  be  more? 


ALONE.  53 

I  look  into  my  bosom,  and  discover  there  charity  and  good-will 
towards  men ;  why  should  I  deny  the  existence  of  like  feelings 
in  those  who  are  partakers  of  the  same  nature,  in  all  other 
respects?" 

"  Fair  logic  j  but  let  us  examine  facts.  Take  an  example  so 
frequently  cited,  as  to  appear  hacknied,  yet  none  the  less  true 
to  nature.  Your  wealth,  or  situation,  or  influence  enables  you 
to  benefit  those  who  style  themselves  your  friends.  You  are 
courted,  beloved,  popular.  A  change  in  these  adventitious  cir- 
cumstances alters  everything.  With  unabated  desires  for  love 
or  distinction,  you  are  a  clod  of  the  earth,  a  cumberer  of  the 
ground.  The  stream  of  adulation  flows  in  another  direction; 
former  acquaintances  pass  you  with  averted  eyes,  or  chilling 
recognitions ;  you  are  sought  by  no  new  ones.  Men  do  not  go 
to  a  barren  tree,  or  a  dried  fountain.  You  shake  your  head ; — 
this  is  not  a  fancy  sketch.  Listen  to  a  leaf  from  my  history. 
Until  two  years  ago  I  never  received  a  harsh  word,  or  an  unlov- 
ing look.  My  mother  was  the  benefactress  of  the  poor,  for 
miles  around,  and  I  was  her  almoner.  Blessings  and  smiles 
hailed  me  wherever  I  went.  I  had  no  conception  of  sorrows 
she  could  not  alleviate ;  and  I  remember  thinking — foolish  child 
that  I  was !  that  her  empire  of  hearts  was  worth  the  glory  of  an 
Alexander  or  Napoleon.  She  died  !  and  where  are  the  fruits  of 
her  loving  kindness?  If  her  memory  lives  in  another  breast 
than  that  of  her  only  child,  I  do  not  know  it  I" 

There  were  tears  in  Carry's  eyes,  already,  and  the  slight 
tremor  of  her  speech  was  grateful  music  to  the  orphan's  ear. 

"  You  quitted  your  home,  and  all  who  knew  her,  and  came 
to  a  strange  city,  where  it  was  necessary  for  you  to  earn  love  as 
she  had  done.  I  have  no  doubt,  nay,  I  am  sure,  that  by  the 
creatures  of  her  bounty,  her  memory  is  preserved  as  a  holy 
thing ;  and  that  they  are  ready  to  extend  the  affection  they  had 
for  her,  to  her  child.  Here,  she  was  comparatively  unknown. 
To  carry  out  your  metaphor  of  the  tree,  the  graft  cut  from  the 
parent  stock  must  bear  fruit  for  itself.  I  know  the  world  is 
generally  selfish,  but  I  am  convinced  that  our  reprobation  of  it 
often  arises  from  the  growth  of  a  similar  weakness  in  ourselves. 
May  it  not  be  that  the  dearth  of  love,  so  painfully  felt  by  you, 
proceeds  in  part,  from  the  ignorance  of  your  associates  as  to  the 
5* 


64  ALON  E. 

real  state  of  your  mind,  or  from  an  exacting  spirit  in  yourself  I 
Pardon  my  freedom ;  it  is  meant  in  kindness." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  candor.  The  truth,  if  unpalatable, 
cannot  offend.' 

"  Then,  trusting  to  your  forbearance,  I  will  go  more  into  par- 
ticulars. To  curry  favor,  in  school,  or  elsewhere,  is  as  repugnant 
to  me  as  to  you ;  but  do  we  sacrifice  self-respect,  by  swaying 
to  the  popular  voice,  when  no  abandonment  of  principle  is 
required?  or  play  the  hypocrite,  in  concealing  prejudices  and 
humors  that  conflict  with  the  sentiments  of  others '}  in  uniting, 
with  apparent  willingness,  in  the  common  cause  ?  We  cannot 
like — we  may  help  all.  I  say  it  in  humility — there  is  one  rule 
by  which  I  do  not  fear  to  be  judged:  'Whatsoever  ye  would 
that  men  should  do  unto  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them.' ;; 

"  I  understand  your  allusions.  You  think  my  reserve  pro- 
ceeds from  pride  alone.  What  if  I  were  to  tell  you" — and  her 
voice  sank,  "  that  haughty  as  I  seem,  I  would  cringe — lie  in  the 
dust — to  the  most  inferior  of  my  daily  companions,  if  she  would 
give  me  love.  Believe  me,  it  is  this  unquenchable  thirst — this 
longing  for  what  is  unattainable  by  me,  which  has  forced  me  to 
court  its  opposite — hate  !  I  will  not  lay  my  heart  bare  to  those 
who  would  spurn  it.  It  is  said,  the  hind  seeks  an  obscure  covert, 
to  die  from  the  wound  for  which  his  unhurt  comrades  would 
shun  him.  You  cannot  know — it  would  be  improper  for  me  to 
recount  my  fruitless  endeavors  to  win  the  coveted  blessing,  at 
any  price,  even  the  loss  of  the  self-respect  you  imagine  I  value 
so  highly.  It  is  enough  that  experiences,  such  as  I  hope  may 
never  be  yours,  have  taught  me  to  entrench  myself  in  my  for- 
tress of  self-confidence,  from  whence  I  hurl  disdain  upon  besieg- 
ing powers.  I  am  thought  independent ;  the  world  has  made 
me  so.  No  woman  is  independent  from  nature  or  choice." 

Carry  looked  musingly  in  the  fire.  "  I  am  not  certain,"  she 
said,  « that  I  have  a  right  to  repeat  what  was  told  me,  by  one 
who  never  thought  that  you  would  hear  it.  I  do  not  see,  how- 
ever, that  it  can  do  harm,  and  I  wish  to  show  you,  that  I  am 
not  ignorant  of  some  of  your  trials.  A  friend  of  mine,  whose 
name  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  mention,  was  in  F 's  paint- 
ing-rooms on  the  afternoon  of  your  visit.  The  artist  was  an 
acquaintance,  and  having  letters  to  write,  he  ofiered  to  occupy 


ALONE.  55 

his  desk  while  Mr.  F should  seek  recreation.  He  was  an 

auditor  of  Josephine's  Read's  garbled  story  of  our  church-yard 
adventure;  he  had  heard  a  true  statement  from  me.  Had  my 
name  been  used,  as  it  would  have  been  if  she  had  known  who 
your  companion  was,  he  would  have  spoken.  As  it  was,  his  indig- 
nation nearly  got  the  better  of  his  prudence.  He  identified  you 
as  the  heroine  of  the  tale,  by  the  significant  gestures  and  winks 
of  the  ill-mannered  party,  and  commended  your  equanimity  and 
forbearance." 

"  He  did  not  add,  that  his  timely  warning  suppressed  the 
responsive  storm  ?"  said  Ida. 

"Why!  did  he  speak?" 

"  No.     He  only  looked,  but  such  a  look  !" 

Carry  laughed.  «  He  is  a  strange  mortal !  But  to  return  to 
yourself.  .  These  exhibitions  of  depravity  and  cold-heartedness, 
are  not  adapted  to  raise  our  estimate  of  mankind;  yet  even 
then,  there  was  one  present,  who  was  on  the  side  of  right  and 
humanity;  who  saw  no  cause  for  mirth  in  the  sufferings  of  a 
child,  or  the  anxieties  of  two  inexperienced  girls." 

"  Dr.  Ballard  did,  it  seems,"  said  Ida,  the  gloomy  look 
returning. 

"  Did  Josephine  hear  of  the  affair  from  him  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so.    Who  else  knew  it  ?" 

"  True.  But  is  it  not  more  probable  that  she  gave  it  her 
own  coloring,  than,  that  he  made  a  jest  of  us?  We  will  lean 
towards  mercy  in  our  judgment." 

"  You  are  a  veritable  alchemist,"  said  Ida.  « You  would 
ferret  out  gold,  even  in  the  dross  of  my  character." 

"  Try  me  !"  replied  Carry.  "  But  bear  in  mind,  nothing  is 
to  be  secreted;  no  hard  thoughts  or  jaundiced  investigations. 
All  must  be  cast  into  the  crucible." 

"  And  tried  by  what  fire  ?"  inquired  Ida. 

"  Love  1"  said  the  warm-hearted  girl,  kneeling  beside  her, 
and  winding  her  arms  about  her  waist.  «  Love  me,  Ida  !  and 
if  I  prove  heartless  and  deceitful,  I  will  cease  to  plead  for  my 
brothers  and  sisters." 

The  glad  tears  that  impearled  her  bright  locks,  replied. 


66  ALONE. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  TEACH  me  to  gain  hearts  as  you  do  1"  Ida  prayed,  on  the 
memorable  evening  of  the  storm,  and  Carry  answered,  blithely, 
"  Love,  and  live  for  others  !" 

To  her,  natural  disposition  and  practice  made  the  task  easy ; 
for  her  pupil,  it  was  arduous  beyond  her  worst  expectation.  Her 
reputation  was  established;  the  wall  she  had  erected  between 
herself  and  her  associates,  was  not  to  be  undermined  or  scaled 
in  a  day.  Her  overtures  of  familiarity  and  service  was  unskil- 
fully made  ;  her  very  timidity  construed  into  labored  con- 
descension. "  It  is  a  hopeless  endeavor — they  will  never  care 
for  me  !"  said  she,  despondingly — once  and  again,  and  Carry 
still  predicted — "  Love  will  win  love.  Persevere  !"  The  birth 
and  growth  of  their  attachment  was  remarkable.  Dissimilar  in 
mind,"  made  more  so  in  manner,  by  education  and  circumstances, 
there  existed  from  the  earliest  stage  of  their  friendship,  perfect 
confidence  in  each  other's  affection.  Carry  had  an  infallible 
perception  of  genuine  worth,  hidden  though  it  might  be ;  and 
Ida  clung  drowningly  to  this  last  anchor — the  sole  tie  that  con- 
nected her  with  her  race.  Like  most  deep  feelings,  its  current 
was  noiseless.  They  were  much  together; — that  was  not  strange, 
since  their  studies  were  the  same.  They  had  separate  compart- 
ments of  one  desk ;  and  none  marked  how  often  one  book  was 
conned  by  both;  brown  and  fair  curls  mingling;  and  hands 
clasped  in  mute  tenderness.  Still  less  did  they  dream  of  the 
miraculous  confluence  of  the  sun-bright  stream  with  the  turbid 
torrent,  and  the  wondrous  music  of  their  flow. 

They  were  sitting  thus  one  forenoon,  when  an  assistant  teacher 
drew  near,  and  inquired  if  there  were  a  vacant  seat  in  their 
vicinity. 

"  A  new  scholar  !"  buzzed  from  fifty  tongues;  and  the  eyea 
of  our  two  students  strayed  with  the  rest,  to  the  door. 

"  Miss  Pratt,  young  ladies  !"  introduced  Mr.  Purcell. 

The  girls  arose,  in  conformance  with  their  custom  of  recep- 
tion, and  bowed  to  the  figure  that  followed  him  into  the  room. 


ALONE.  '  57 

She  was  short  and  fat — "  dumpy/'  in  vulgar  parlance ;  and  so 
homely,  as  to  countenance  Ellen  Morris'  report  to  another 
department — "  that  the  farmers  in  the  neighborhood  where  she 
was  <  riz/  had  forwarded  a  petition,  beseeching  her  to  return, 
their  corn  having  suffered  greatly  from  the  depredations  of  the 
crows *since  her  departure;  a  thing  unheard  of,  previously,  in 
that  part  of  the  country."  Her  eyes  were  small  and  grey ;  hei 
nose  a  ruddy  "  snub;"  her  lips  curiously  puckered  up  ;  and  her 
skin  might  have  owed  its  dappled  red  to  the  drippings  of  the 
carroty  frizette  overshadowing  it.  Her  dress  was  showy  and 
outr6;  a  rainbow  silk  trebly-flounced ;  an  embroidered  lace  cape ; 
white  kid  gloves ;  a  gold  cable  of  startling  dimensions ;  two 
bracelets  of  corresponding  size,  and  different  patterns ;  a  brooch 
that  matched  neither,  and  out-glittered  both ;  while  blue,  green, 
and  red  stones,  with  heavy  settings,  loaded  the  thick  fingers  to 
the  knuckles. 

Awe  of  their  preceptor  in  some,  good  breeding  in  others, 
prevented  any  audible  outbreak  of  amusement ;  but  what  school 
girl  on  the  gui  vive  for  diversion  could  keep  from  smiling  ?  Mr. 
Purcell  frowned  as  his  eye  travelled  from  one  mirthful  face  to 
another,  but  a  twinkle  from  Ellen  Morris'  dancing  orbs  neutra- 
lized the  effort  j  and  there  was  a  perceptible  twitch  of  his  risible 
muscle  as  he  rapped  for  "order."  Ida  and  Carry  had  not 
escaped  the  contagion,  an  indulgence  for  which  they  reproached 
themselves. 

"  Poor  girl !"  whispered  Carry.  "  She  knows  no  better.  She 
is  to  be  pitied  instead  of  laughed  at."  >  And  Ida  thought  of  her 
loneliness,  upon  her  induction  into  these  strange  scenes.  "I  can 
lesson  her  discomfort,  and,  uninfluenced  by  prejudice,  she  will  be 
thankful,  perhaps  will  become  fond  of  me." 

Carry  read  her  resolve  in  her  thoughtful  survey  of  the  stran- 
ger; but  while  she  loved  and  honoured  her  for  .it,  her  heart 
misgave  her  as  she  looked  more  attentively  at  the  object  of  the 
purposed  charity.  Her  physiognomy  was  not  more  irregular 
than  unpleasant  in  its  expression.  She  had  opened  a  book,  to  be 
in  the  fashion  in  this  as  in  every  thing  else,  but  her  regards  were 
wandering  around  the  room  in  scared  yet  unblushing  curiosity, 
flustered  at  being  in  a  crowd,  without  a  doubt  as  to  her  ability 
to  cope  with  the  best  of  them.  Before  the  exercises  of  the 


58  ALONE. 

forenoon  wero  concluded,  she  was  summoned  to  see  a  visitor,  and 
did  not  reappear  before  intermission.  Then  Ida,  having  occasion 
to  go  into  a  small  room,  where  bonnets  and  cloaks  were  hung, 
found  her  standing  at  the  window,  crying  She  wheeled  about 
sharply  on  hearing  a  step;  her  eyes  swelled  almost  out  of  sight, 
and  her  whole  appearance  frightful  in  its  disorder. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked,  querulously. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  here,"  said  Ida.  "  What  is  the 
matter  ?  Are  you 'sick  ?  Can  I  help  you  ?" 

"  No.    My  pa's  gone  away  1"     A  fresh  burst. 

»  Gone !  where  ?" 

"  Gone  home  !  and  I  don't  want  to  stay  in  this  nasty,  mean 
place.  I  don't  want  to  go  to  school  no  more — nowhar  !" 

To  hint  at  the  obvious  propriety  of  the  deprecated  measure 
was  a  temptation  policy  bade  her  resist,  and  Ida  was '  actually 
nonplussed  in  casting  about  in  her  mind  for  appropriate  consola- 
tion. 

"  You  will  like  us  better  than  you  expect,"  she  said,  rather 
awkwardly ;  "  and  your  father  will  come  soon  to  see  you  again 
— will  he  not  ?" 

"  Yes ;  he's  comin'  next  week.  He  is  a  representative  !" 
mouthing  the  word  magniloquently. 

"A— what?" 

" He  belongs  to  the  legislator.   Lor  !  didn't  you  know  that?" 

"  No,"  replied  Ida,  humbly ;  "  I  am  so  little  conversant  with 
State  affairs.  You  will  be  glad  to  have  him  so  near." 

"  I  don't  care  much  about  it ;  I  want  to  go  home  and  stay 
with  ma  !"  beginning  to  sob.  Neither  her  unpolished  manners, 
nor  her  accent,  combining,  as  it  did,  the  most  vicious  of  Virginia 
provincialisms,  with  the  gutturals  of  the  African  ;  nor  her  noisy 
grief,  could  make  Ida  forget  that  she  was  a  home-sick  child — 
weeping  for  her  mother  !  SJie  too  had  mourned,  and  "  refused 
to  be  comforted,  because  hers  was  not."  Miss  Pratt's  sorrow, 
however,  was  very  garrulous. 

"  Now,  at  home,"  she  continued,  "  I  did  jest  as  I  pleased ;  I 
lay  down  most  all  day.  Ma  said  reading  was  bad  for  my  head ; 
and  so  'tis;  it  makes  me  as  stupid  as  I  don't  know  what;  and 
aint  no  use  besides.  I  can  play  on  the  pianny ;  gentlemen  don't 


ALONE.  59 

care  for  nothing  else  when  they  go  to  see  the  ladies.  You  all 
don't  have  no  beaux  while  you're  at  school,  do  you  ?" 

Ida  smiled  at  this  unlocked  for  query.  "  We  do  not  have 
much  leisure  for  amusements,"  she  rejoined. 

"  And  can't  you  go  to  the  theatre,  and  to  shows  and  parties  ?" 
asked  Miss  Pratt,  alarmed. 

"There  are  no  rules  on  the  subject;  but  it  is  thought  that  a 
young  lady  is  better  fitted  to  go  into  society,  when  her  mind  and 
manners  are  formed  by  time  and  study." 

"  Mine  are  enough  formed,  I  know/'  complacently  glancing 
from  her  attire  to  Ida's  plain  merino,  and  black  silk  apron. 
"  How  awful  ugly  all  the  girls  dress !  Aint  none  of  'em  rich  ?" 

"  I  believe  so ;  but  the  school-girls  here  dress  simply." 

"/shan't!  My  pa's  able  to  give  me  decent  clothes,  and  I 
mean  to  have  'em.  I  don't  like  Richmond  a  single  bit.  Nobody 
don't  take  no  more  notice  of  me  than  if  [  wan't  nobody — no 
better  than  other  folks." 

"  You  are  not  acquainted  yet.  There  are  some  pleasant  girls 
amongst  us ;  and  you  will  love  Mr.  Purcell." 

"  Is  he  strict,  much  ?     Does  he  make  you  get  hard  lessons  1" 

"  He  is  very  kind  and  considerate." 

"  I  despise  teachers  and  books.  Thank  patience  !  I  am  going 
to  turn  out  after  this  session.  Ma  was  married  at  fifteen,  and 
I'm  going  on  seventeen." 

« I  am  quite  seventeen,  but  I  am  not  tired  of  books.  When 
I  leave  school,  I  shall  adopt  a  regular  plan  of  study  and 
reading." 

"  Good  gracious  !  Why,  don't  you  expect  to  get  married  ? 
What  are  you  going  to  learn  so  much  for  ?  I  reckon  you're 
going. to  teach  school." 

"No;  I  study  because  I  like  to  do  it." 

"  Pshaw !  you  talk  like  your  teacher  was  in  the  room.  I 
don't  believe  that." 

"  The  school-bell  I"  interrupted  Ida,  happy  to  be  released. 

Miss  Pratt  hung  back.  "  I  don't  want  to  go  where  all  them 
girls  are.  Will  Mr.  What's-his-name  be  mad  if  I  stay  here?" 

"  He  will  probably  send  for  you." 

"  Then  I  might's  well  go  now.  I  don't  care — I'm  as  good  ag 
any  of  ;em." 


60  ALONE. 

"  What,  and  who  is  she  ?"  inquired  Carry,  when  school  was 
out. 

"  A  silly,  neglected  child,"  responded  her  friend.  "  Shame- 
fully ignorant,  when  we  consider  her  father's  station.  He  is  a 
member  of  the  legislature." 

"  Ah  !  can  it  be  the  delegate  from  A ?  I  have  heard  of 

him.  He  is  a  clever  politician,  and  an  educated  man.  I  am 
astonished  !" 

So  were  all  who  made  the  acquaintance  of  his  daughter.  Mr. 
Pratt  had  done  his  best  to  serve  his  country  and  increase  his 
fortune.  The  rearing  of  his  children  was  confided  to  a  weak  and 
foolishly  fond  mother.  The  only  girl  was  alternately  stuffed  and 
dosed,  until  the  modicum  of  intellectual  strength  nature  might 
have  granted  her,  was  nearly  destroyed ;  the  arable  soil  exhausted 
by  the  rank  weed  growth.  It  was  just  after  his  election  to  the 
House  of  Eepresentatives,  that  the  father  made  simultaneously 
two  astounding  discoveries — that  physically,  his  daughter  was 
no  longer  a  child,  and  that  she  was  a  dunce.  He  had  paid  a 
teacher  to  superintend  her  education,  and  supposed  she  had  done 
her  duty ;  whereas,  the  prudent  governess,  having  little  more 
sense  than  her  pupil,  and  loving  her  ease  fully  as  well,  had  en- 
joyed her  sinecure  of  a  situation  with  no  compunctious  visitings 
of  conscience.  She  acted  "  according  to  Mrs.  Pratt's  instruc- 
tions." It  was  a  thunderbolt  to  the  feminine  trio  when  the 
Representative  introduced  a  bill  of  amendment,  paid  the  soi- 
disant  instructress  for  the  work  she  had  not  performed,  inform- 
ing her  that  her  services  were  at  an  end ;  and  ordered  the  mother 
to  resign  her  spoiled  child  to  him,  "  he  would  see  what  could  be 
done  towards  redeeming  the  time."  He  carried  his  point  in  the 
teeth  of  a  windy  and  watery  tempest,  and  "  Miss  Celestia  Pratt" 
was  duly  entered  on  the  roll-book  of  Mr.  Purcell's  justly  cele- 
brated institution.  She  soon  ceased  to  complain  that  she  was  not 
noticed.  The  second  day  of  her  attendance  she  fell  in  with 
Ellen  Morris  and  her  coterie.  By  the  time  the  half  hour's  recess 
was  over,  they  were  enlightened  as  to  her  past  life,  and  future 
aspirations,  and  supplied  with  the  material  of  a  year's  fun-making; 
while  she  was  reinstated  in  her  self-consequence,  and  ready  to 
Btrike  hands  with  them  in  any  scheme  they  chalked  out. 


ALONE.  61 

« It  is  a  shame,"  said  Ida,  who,  with  Carry  kept  aloof, 
silent  spectators.  "  Cannot  she  see  what  they  are  doing  ?" 

"  It  will  be  a  severe,  but  perhaps  a  salutary  lesson,"  replied 
Carry. 

"  But  the  poor  creature  will  be  the  butt  of  the  school." 

"  And  of  the  community,"  said  Carry.  "  I  have  reasoned 
with  Ellen ; — she  is  not  evil  disposed,  but  would  compass  sea 
and  land  for  as  rich  a  joke  as  this  promises  to  be.  My  influence 
can  effect  nothing." 

"What  if  I  warn  the  girl?"  said  Ida.  «  Must  she  pay  the 
penalty  of  her  parent's  fault  ?" 

"  My  darling,"  returned  Carry,  affectionately,  "  I  am  learning 
prudence  from  you,  and  I  verily  believe  I  have  imparted  to  you 
some  of  my  inconsiderateness.  What  hold  have  you  on  this  Miss 
Pratt's  confidence?  Ellen  and  her  clique  are  as  likely  to  be  in 
the  right  as  yourself.  In  her  estimation  they  are  more  entitled 
to  credence.  They  play  upon  the  string  of  self — you  will  utter 
a  distasteful  truth.  Let  her  and  them  alone,  except  so  far  as 
your  individual  self  is  concerned.  Attract  each  one  to  you,  and 
you  may  be  the  means  of  bringing  them  together." 

Ellen  Morris  burst  into  the  school-room  one  morning  in  a 
gale  of  excitement. 

It  was  early,  and  none  of" the  teachers  were  present,  the  girls 
were  gathered  in  knots  about  the  stove  and  desks. 

«  Oh  girls !"  she  cried,  "  I  hurried  to  get  here  before  my  angel 
Celestia.  I  have  the  best  thing  to  tell  you.  You  must  know 
she  and  I  were  invited,  with  several  others,  to  take  tea  at  Uncle 
James'  last  evening.  •  We  had  not  been  there  long  before  aunt 
said  that  Mr.  Dermott  was  expected.  <  I  have  it/  thought  I.  I 
gave  Celestia  a  nudge,  { Do  you  hear  that  ?' 

"'What?'  said  she. 

"  <  The  great  traveller,  Mr.  Dermott,  is  to  be  here  presently. 
Ain't  you  glad  ?' 

" <  Who  is  he  ?     I  never  heard  of  him.' 

"  < Oh  Celestia!  and  you  a  representative's  daughter !  and  he 

invited  expressly  to  meet  you — it  is  well  no  one  overheard  you — 

and  you  have  not  composed  your  conversation  either  ?     What 

will  you  do?     He  is  one  of  the  famous  authors  you  hear  so  much 

6 


62  ALONE. 

of.  They  will  make  a  statue  of  him  when  he  dies,  like  "Wash- 
ington in  the  capitol,  you  know.' 

"  '  You  don't  say  so  !' 

" '  Yes,  and  he  has  seen  the  seven  wonders  of  the  world,  and 
elephants,  and  rhinoceros,  and  polypi,  and  hippopotami,  and 
Dawalageri,  and  anthropophagi/ 

•"'  Good  gracious!'  said  she,  looking  wild,  'You  reckon  he 
will  speak  to  me  ?  do  tell  me  something  to  say !' 

"  '  Could  you  repeat  those  names  ?' 

« t  That  I  couldn't,  to  save  my  life  !' 

"  <  Well, — let  me  see, — you  must  be  very  sober  and  wise ; 
only  saying  'yes'  and  'no/  till  he  gets  to  talking  of  books. 
Then  is  the  time  to  show  off.  Literary  people  never  inquire 
what  you  remember  in  a  book,  if  you  say  you  have  read  it.' 

"  '  Yes,'  she  struck  in,  with  a  grin.  '  So  when  he  asks  me  if 
I've  read  them  he's  talking  about,  I'm  a-going  to  say  'yes' — 
(you  know  she  is  always  '  going,  going,  gone.')  '  He  aint  a-go- 
ing to  catch  me,  I'll  show  him !' 

" '  Eight,'  said  I;  '  and  question  him  about  two  or  three, 
which  you  name  yourself;  that  will  finish  the  business.' 

"  <  I  don't  know  none.' 

«  '  Don't  you  ?  Then  I  will  write  off  a  short  list.  Keep  the 
paper  in  your  hand;  and  when  he  is  fairly  under  way  talking, 
you  steal  a  sly  peep  at  it.'  Oh  !  it  was  enrapturing  to  see  how 
she  held  on  to  that  slip  of  paper !  poring  over  it  every  five 
minutes  before  Mr.  Dermott's  arrival,  and  once  in  two  minutes 
afterwards.  She  would  study  it  for  a  second,  then  her  lips  would 
move,  until  the  time  for  another  peep ;  she  was  getting  it  by 
heart,  staring  at  him  all  the  while.  .  By  and  by  he  happened  to 
be  near  her ;  and  said  something  about  the  Panorama.  She  had 
been  on  tiptoe  for  the  last  hour,  lest  her  trouble  should  be  thrown 
away ;  and  resolved  not  to  lose  this  opportunity,  she  spoke  out 
as  loudly  as  addressing  a  deaf  person — 

" '  Mr.  Dermarclc !  have  you  ever  read  Plutarch-es  Liv-es, 
Homer's  Eyelids,  Dance's  Diving  Comedy  and  Campbell's  Gra- 
titude of  Wimming  ?'  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  him  !" 

"  0  Ellen  !  Ellen !"  chorussed  twenty  voices ;  and  the  crowd 
rocked  in  uncontrollable  merriment.  Carry,  and  one  or  two 


ALONE.  63 

more  were  grave ;  and  an  indignant  voice  said,  "  How  wickedly 
heartless  !" 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  meaning  and  emphasis  of  the 
interjection.  Ellen  crimsoned  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  She 
retorted  with  a  spirit  entirely  opposite  to  her  usual  sportive 
gaiety. 

"  One,  whose  lowest  thoughts  soar  so  far  above  the  common 
herd,  as  Miss  Ross,  cannot  be  expected  to  understand  a  piece  of 
harmless  pleasantry." 

Ida  had  unluckily  employed  the  oft-quoted  words,  "  the  com- 
mon herd  of  mankind,"  in  a  written  composition ;  and  this  was 
not  the  first  time  it  had  been  used  as  an  offensive  missile. 

"  One  must  stoop  low  indeed,  Miss  Morris,"  was  the  instant 
rejoinder,  "to  see  harmless  pleasantry  in  a  plot  for  the  disgrace 
of  an  unoffending  school-mate." 

"  Ida!  Ellen  I"  exclaimed  Carry,  laying  her  hand  upon  Ellen's 
mouth,  and  stifling  her  reply.  "  For  my  sake,  girls — if  not  for 
your  own — say  no  more  !  Ida !  what  have  you  to  do  with  this 
miserable  affair  ?" 

« I  have  done !"  said  Ida,  bitterly  j  « Defence  of  right  and 
truth  is  better  left  unattempted  here  !" 

The  girls  fell  back  as  she  crossed  to  her  seat.  The  sentence 
sank  into  every  mind ;  and  the  expression  of  each  one  showed 
that  she  appropriated  it.  Carry's  head  dropped  upon  Ellen's 
shoulder ;  and  sullenly  vindictive  as  was  the  latter,  she  was  not 
unmoved  by  the  quiver  of  the  slender  frame.  Mr.  Purcell's 
entrance  put  an  end  to  the  scene.  That  was  a  wretched  day  to 
more  than  one  heart.  Ida's  was  well-nigh  bursting.  It  mattered 
not  that  her  prospects  of  popularity  were,  for  the  presen-t,  ship- 
wrecked j  that  her  resolutions  of  patience  and  gentleness  had 
broken,  like  dry  straws,  at  the  breeze  of  passion ; — Carry  was 
wounded — perhaps  offended — perhaps  estranged  !  «  Still,  what 
have  I  done  ?"  whispered  pride,  "  spoken  truth,  and  defended 
the  absent!"  But  conscience  answered — "Anger,  not  justice 
was  the  prompter,"  and  again,  every  feeling  merged  in  one — 
"  What  will  Carry  think  ?"  She  did  not  offer  her  book  as  usual 
— did  not  meet  her  eye.  She  would  have  read  no  resentment 
there ;  the  pale,  sad  face  told  of  suffering,  with  no  admixture  of 
baser  motives.  The  intermission  was  dull.  Miss  Celestia's 


64  ALONE. 

extravagant  description  of  " the  party,"  and  "  the  gentlewim" 
she  "  was  interduced  to,"  hardly  excited  a  smile.  A  nameless 
depression  was  upon  all.  Ellen,  their  ringleader  in  mischief, 
and  Carry,  the  willing  participant  in  their  innocent  pleasures, 
were  wanting  from  their  band.  They  remained  at  their  desks, 
seemingly  engaged  in  study,  until  almost  school-time,  when 
Carry  went  around  to  the  other,  whispered  a  word;  and  they 
left  the  apartment  together.  They  returned  arm  in  arm,  as  Ida, 
who  had  gone  home  in  recess,  more  to  be  quieted  and  refreshed 
by  the  cool  air,  than  for  luncheon, — entered  from  the  street. 
She  remarked  their  affectionate  air,  and  happier  faces  with 
goading  envy.  "Ellen  is  worth  conciliating.  It  would  *be 
dangerous  to  break  with  her.  There  can  be  no  hesitancy,  with 
the  fair  words  of  the  crowd  in  one  scale — and  Ida  Ross,  unknown 
and  unbeloved,  in  the  other.  Be  it  so  !"  But  awakened  affec- 
tion had  had  a  taste  of  its  proper  nutriment,  and  was  not  to  be 
famished  into  silence.  The  afternoon  wore  heavily  away  in  the 
unspoken  anguish  of  love  and  pride  and  suspicion.  Careless  of 
remarks  or  conjectures,  she  declined  dinner,  and  retired  at  once 
to  her  chamber,  when  she  reached  home.  It  might  have  been 
one  hour ; — it  might  have  been  three,  that  she  had  knelt  or  laid 
upon  the  floor,  her  head  upon  a  stool,  before  the  mourner  for 
the  dead  bird ; — weeping  and  thinking,  and  seeming  to  grow  a 
year  older  with  each  flood  of  grief;  when  there  came  a  tap  at  the 
door.  "  Josephine  !"  was  the  first  thought — to  spring  to  the 
mirror,  brush  the  tumbled  hair,  and  dash  rosewater  over  the 
discolored  cheeks,  the  work  of  the  next  minute  ;  then  she  said 
sleepily—"  Who  is  there  ?" 

«  It  is  I — Carry  I" 

The  bolt  was  withdrawn,  and  the  intruder  lay,  sobbing  upon 
her  breast. 

«0h,  Ida !  how  could  you  be  angry  with  me?" 

Ida  struggled  with  the  answering  drops,  but  they  would  come. 

"  I  thought  you  had  thrown  me  off,  Carry !" 

"You  could  not — after  my  note." 

"  Your  note !" 

"  I  slipped  it  into  your  French  Grammar,  as  it  lay  open  before 
your  eyes ;  and  you  shut  the  book  and  put  it  aside, — I  supposed 
to  read  it  at  your  leisure." 


ALONE.  65 

« I  did  not  see  it." 

She  went  to  her  satchel,  and  brought  forth  the  Grammar. 
«  There  it  is  I"  said  Carry,  as  a  folded  paper  fell  from  within  it. 
« Do  not  read  it.  I  will  tell  you  its  contents.  I  asked  your 
forgiveness  for  interrupting  you  so  rudely  this  morning;  but 
these  public  disputes  lead  to  so  much  evil.  Ellen  was  wrong ; 
she  has  said  so  to  me ;  and  is  ready  to  be  your  friend,  if  you 
consent.  Her  conduct  was  blameably  thoughtless ;  and  her 
quick  temper  could  not  submit  to  a  rebuke  so  openly  administered. 
I  was  abrupt,  but  it  was  not  because  I  was  angry  with,  or  did 
not  love  you.  Ellen's  taunt  was  extremely  provoking" — 

"Stop!  stop!  Carry!  It  is  I,  who  should  sue  for  pardon, 
and  excuse,  if  I  can,  my  unbecoming  heat,  and  after  doubts  of 
your  friendship.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  fearful  warfare  has 
waged  within  me ; — how  much  incensed  I  was  to  see  you  and 
Ellen  come  in  so  lovingly,  at  noon ; — how  Ishmael-like  I  felt ; 
— every  man's  hand  against  me,  and  mine  against  the  universe, 
and  Him  who  made  it,"  she  added,  with  an  intonation  of  awe. 
"  Can  you  love  me  after  hearing  this,  Carry  ?" 

"  Always — always  1" 

Ellen  was  amazed,  that  afternoon,  on  being  summoned  to 
receive  visitors,  to  find  in  them  her  two  class-mates,  and  more 
astounded  to  hear  from  her  antagonist  of  the  morning,  a  frank 
and  graceful  apology  for  her  hasty  strictures  upon  her  conduct 
and  words.  Ellen  was,  as  she  phrased  it,  "great  upon  high- 
flown  speeches;  but  this  was  an  extraordinary  occasion,  and 
demanded  a  deviation  from  ordinary  rules;  so  I  condescended,  for 
once,  to  make  use  of  simple  language." 

If  simple,  it  was  satisfactory,  and  they  parted  most  amicably. 
It  was  past  sunset,  when  the  friends  arrived  at  Mr.  Read's  door. 
Ida  stood  upon  the  steps,  watching  Carry,  as  she  tripped  away 
into  the  dusk.  Others  would  have  seen  only  a  pretty  girl,  with 
a  smile  like  May  sunshine ; — to  the  fond  eyes  that  followed  her, 
she  was  an  angel  of  love,  upon  whom  nothing  of  e?il  could  gaze 
without  adoration  and  contrition ; — and  now  the  light  of  a  new 
blessing  beaming  upon  her  brow — the  blessing  of  the  peace- 
maker! 

6* 


ALONE 


CHAPTER    VII. 

SPRING  had  departed,  and  the  good  citizens  of  Richmond 
complained  as  piteously  of  the  heat,  as  though  every  zephyr 
that  awoke  for  miles  around,  did  not  sweep  over  their  seven 
hills  freighted  with  the  perfume  of  gardens  and  groves,  instead 
of  the  reeking  odors  of  a  thronged  city.  And  in  our  day,  as 
then,  airy,  spacious  villas  are  forsaken,  while  their  infatuated 
denizens  hie  away  to  pay  $50  per  week,  for  a  genteel  sty,  six 
feet  by  ten ;  with  the  privilege  of  eating  such  fare,  as  in  the 
event  of  its  appearance  upon  their  own  boards,  would  find  its 
way  back  to  the  place  where  it  was  concocted,  accompanied  by 
an  anathematised  warning  to  the  cook ; — and  of  gulping  down 
unwholesomely-copious  draughts  of  a  nauseous  liquid,  which  the 
stomach  neither  relishes,  nor  needs.  There  is  dancing  "all 
night,  'till  broad  day-light,"  a  dusty  drive  to  assist  the  diges- 
tion of-  a  breakfast,  one's  common  sense,  no  less  than  the 
digerent  organs  assures  him  is  insured  against  chylifaction ; 
promenading  until  dinner,  which  meal  is  taken  in  full  dress , — 
another  drive,  or  an  enervating  siesta,  and  it  is  time  to. dress  for 
supper ;  then  dancing  again ;  and  at  the  end  of  "  the  season/' 
the  fashionable  votaries  return,  jaded  and  debilitated,  to  home 
and  comfort,  and  tell  you,  with  a  ghastly  smile,  that  they  have 
been  ruralizing  at  the  «  Carburretted,  Sulphuretted,  Chalybeate 
Springs."  Ruralising  at  the  Springs  !  sketching  a  landscape 
from  an  Express  train — sleeping  in  a  canal-boat — reciprocating 
ideas  with  a  talkative  woman ! 

Mr.  Read  came  home  to  tea,  on  a  sultry  July  evening,  with 
some  crotchet  in  his  brain.  That  could  be  seen  with  half  an 
eye  j  and  Josephine  was  affable  to  a  distressing  degree,  to  coax 
the  stranger  into  an  earlier  incubation,  than  would  occur  without 
artificial  warmth.  The  effects  of  her  Eccolodeon  were  presently 
apparent. 

»  When  does  your  session  close,  Josey  ?"  he  inquired. 
<  On  Friday,  sir." 


ALONE.  67 

"  Then  you  will  be  on  your  head  to  quit  town,  like  everybody 
else." 

"  I  have  no  solicitude  on  the  subject,  sir.  I  am  as  indifferent 
to  it,  as  to  many  other  things  people  rave  about." 

"  You  are  your  father's  child,  cool  and  hard  1"  observed  her 
parent,  with  a  gratified  look. 

"  But  for  a  novelty,  what  say  you  to  a  trip  to  Saratoga  ?" 

"  I  should  like  it,  sir, — if  you  accompany  me." 

"  I  have  business  which  takes  me  in  that  direction,  and  I 
thought,  as  you  are  to  <  come  out'  next  winter,  it  would  sound 
well  to  have  made  your  debut  at  such  a  fashionable  place." 

Josephine  smiled ;  she  could  appreciate  this  argument.  The 
journey  was  discussed — the  expenses,  dress,  appearance,  etc. 
Ida  sat  by,  taciturn  and  unconsulted.  She  had  a  motive  iq 
remaining.  Finally,  she  contrived  to  throw  in  a  word. 

"  I  wish  to  inform  you  of  my  arrangements  for  the  summer, 
sir,  if  you  have  time  to  listen." 

"  Yours !  they  are  the  same  as  ours,  of  course.  Do  you 
imagine  that  I  would  -permit  my  daughter  to  travel  without  a 
female  companion,  or  give  her  an  advantage,  you  are  not  to 
share  !" 

The  latter  clause  was  so  clearly  an  afterthought,  and  dove- 
tailed so  oddly  with  its  antecedent,  that  Ida's  smile  was  almost 
a  sneer. 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir,  that  you  are  disappointed  in  your  calcula- 
tions; but  as  Josephine  has  a  maid,  I  do  not  deem  my  attendance 
indispensable.  If  I  leave  town,  I  shall  go  in  another  direction, 
unless  you  positively  forbid  it." 

"  And  what  place  is  to  be  honored  by  your  preference  ?  May 
I  presume  to  ask  ?" 

« I  shall  go  home  with  Miss  Carleton." 

"Ahem  !  I  comprehend.  I  should  have  anticipated  this  from 
your  overpowering  intimacy.  You  have  played  your  cards  badly, 
Josephine.  Why  have  you  not  ingratiated  yourself  with  some 
<  divine  creature,'  who  has  a  rich  papa  ?  It  is  a  capital  means 
of  extending  one's  acquaintance,  and  sparing  one's  purse.  How 
long  do  you  intend  to  sponge — to  remain,  I  mean,  with  your 
friend,  Miss  Ross  ?" 

"  I  may  not  return  before  Christmas.     I  hear  that  the  holi- 


68  ALONE. 

days  are  celebrated  with  much  style  and  festivity,  in  the 
country,"  she  replied. 

Mr.  Read  suppressed  something  very  like  an  oath,  at  her 
calm  assurance. 

"  When  do  you  go  ?" 

"  Next  Monday.  Dr.  Carleton  is  expected  daily.  Did  I  under- 
stand you  to  say,  that  you  did  not  object  ?" 

"  Confound  it !  what  do  I  care  where,  or  when  you  go  ?" 

"  Oh  Carry !"  apostrophized  Ida,  shutting  herself  in  her  room. 
"  Even  you  could  not  be  charitable  and  forbearing  here.  It  is 
hard !  hard  !K 

"  That  is  unquestionably  the  most  wrong-headed  girl  I  know," 
said  Mr.  Read,  to  his  daughter. 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  she  is  not  going  with  us,"  was  the  answer, 
"  She  would  be  of  no  use  to  me,  and  an  additional  care  to  you." 

"  Maybe  so,  maybe  not.  Her  travelling  expenses  would  not 
have  come  out  of  my  pocket ;  and  there  are  advantages,  some- 
times, in  having  two  ladies,  a  larger  and  better  room,  and  such 
like ;  you  pay  the  same  price,  and  have  twice  the  value  of  your 
money.  You  understand  ?" 

"  I  don't  care.  I  had  rather  sleep  upon  a  pallet  in  a  loft,  by 
myself,  than  in  the  handsomest  room  in  the  house,  with  her  for 
a  room-mate.  It  frets  me,  though  to  see  her  airs !  I  wish  the 
law  allowed  you  absolute  control." 

"  It  wont  do  with  her.  If  she  suspected  a  design  on  my  part 
to  abridge  her  liberties,  or  defraud  her  of  her  dues,  she  would  as 
lief  enter  a  complaint  against  me  as  not.  She  has  the  temper 
of  the  Evil  One ;  and  watch  as  you  may,  will  get  the  bit  between 
her  teeth." 

The  carriage  was  at  the  door  by  six  o'clock  on  Monday  morn- 
ing. Ida  was  ready;  but  her  trunk  was  strapped  on,  and  her 
maid  seated  upon  the  box  with  the  driver,  before  she  appeared. 
The  truth  was,  she  dreaded  to  me^it  Dr.  Carleton.  She  did  not 
recollect  her  own  father,  and  had  no  agreeable  associations 
connected  with  any  who  bore  that  relation  to  her  young 
acquaintances.  She  was  inclined  to  look  upon  the  class,  as  a 
set  of  necessary  discords  in  life ;  Mr.  Read  being  the  key-note. 
Carry  often  spoke  of  her  surviving  parent  with  earnest  affection ; 
but  Ida  attributed  this  to  a  charity,  that  beheld  no  faults  in 


ALONE.  69 

those  she  loved.  The  thought  of  her  ride  and  visit  would  have 
been  unalloyed,  but  for  this  idiosyncrasy.  "  If  he  were  like 
Mr.  Dana !"  she  said,  going  slowly  down  stairs.  He  was  in  the 
porch,  with  Mr.  Read  and  Carry.  "  My  friend  Ida,  father," 
said  Carry.  He  was  not  like  Mr.  Dana, — better  than  that !  He 
was  the  image  of  Carry — her  eyes,  mouth  and  smile — his  locks, 
although  silvered  by  years,  must  in  youth  have  waved  in  the 
same  golden  curls.  He  was  handsome  yet,  how  could  he  be 
otherwise !  and  had  she  failed  to  love  him  at  sight,  the  unaf- 
fected geniality  of  his  salutation  would  have  captivated  her. 
She  had  not  a  care  in  the  world,  as  she  reclined  in  the  carriage, 
beside  Carry,  the  revolving  wheels  bearing  her  towards  the 
country.  Mr.  Read  and  his  feminine  prototype  were  sign-posts, 
marking  rough  and  miry  roads  she  had  travelled;  they  were 
troubles  no  more ;  she  was  leaving  them  behind. 

There  had  been  a  thunder-storm  in  the  night,  and  in  that 
brief  fit  of  passion,  nature  had  wept  away  every  unkind  or  un- 
pleasant emotion.  The  sky  wore  that  rich,  soft,  transparent  hue, 
which  imparts  its  own  pureness  to  the  soul  of  him,  who  looks  upon 
it ;  smilingly  luring  it  to  soar  away,  and  «  steep  itself  in  the  blue 
of  its  remembered  home;"  the  forest-leaves  glittered  with  rain- 
diamonds,  and  the  bird-matin  was  warbled  by  a  full  orchestra. 
And  on,  through  the  slants  of  sunlight,  and  the  alternations  of 
deep,  green  shade ;  with  the  old,  familiar  chirpings  in  her  ear, 
and  the  touch  of  the  loved  one's  hand  upon  hers,  rode  the 
orphan;  very  quiet,  through  excess  of  happiness;  afraid  to 
speak  or  move,  lest  this  should  prove  a  never-to-be  realized 
dream,  whose  awaking  should  bring  bitter,  hopeless  yearnings ! 

Little  by  little,  Carry  broke  up  her  musings ;  and  her  father 
seconded  her.  He  was  prepared  to  like  his  daughter's  friend, 
and  there  was  that  in  his  eye  and  voice,  which  made  Ida  forget, 
as  she  had  done  with  Carry, — that  she  was  talking  with  a 
stranger.  ^ 

"  That  is  a  fine  specimen  of  your  favorite  tree,  Ida,"  observed 
Carry,  pointing  to  a  majestic  pine,  grand  and  solitary,  at  the 
entrance  of  a  grove  of  oaks. 

«  And  superb  it  is,  in  its  loneliness  I"  said  Ida. 

"  Farmers  would  cavil  at  your  taste,"  remarked  Dr.  Carleton. 
" <  Pine  barrens'  are  proverbial.  A  thick  growth  of  them  is  an 


70  ALONE 

unmistakeable  sign  of  poverty  of  soil.  Nothing  else  can  extract 
sustenance  from  the  worn  out  ground." 

"That  is  why  I  like  them,  sir.  There  is  sublimity  in  their 
hardy  independence,  taking  root,  as  you  say,  where  pampered,  or 
less  robust  vegetation  would  perish,  and  with  never-furling 
banners,  stretching  up  boldly  towards  the  stars." 

"  They  are  emblems  to  you — of  what  ?"  asked  the  Doctor. 

"  Of  the  few  really  great  ones,  who  have  demonstrated  that 
human  nature  is  not  of  necessity,  vile  or  imbecile,  or  yet  a 
debtor  to  accident,  for  its  spice  of  good." 

"The  gifted, — or  the  fortunate  ?" 

"  The  resolute, — sir.  They,  who  have  riven  the  shackles  of 
low  birth  or  poverty,  and  made  for  themselves  a  glorious  name 
— out  of  nothing ! — have  done  it  by  the  naked  force  of  will. 
Call  it  <  talent'  or  '  genius/  if  you  choose ; —  upon  analyzation, 
you  will  resolve  it  into  this  one  element  of  character." 

"  It  is  a  sorry  task  to  pick  flaws  in  your  beautiful  analogy," 
said  the  old  gentleman.  "  You  may  not  be  aware  that  your 
pine,  sturdy  as  it  appears,  is  less  fitted  than  any  other  tree,  for 
standing  alone ;  its  roots  running  out  laterally  from  the  trunk  ; 
and  lying  near  the  surface  of  the  earth.  Cut  down  the  outer 
row  which  have  kept  off  the  tempests,  and  helped  to  support 
him,  and  the  first  hard  wind  is  apt  to  lay  him  low." 

"  And  so  there  are  fates,  against  which  the  mightiest  of 
mortal  energies  are  powerless.  Leave  the  pine  unprotected,  and 
if  it  survive  one  blast,  it  strikes  its  roots  deeper  and  deeper  into 
the  ground,  until  it  has  strength  to  brave  an  hundred  winters. 
Adversity,  if  it  does  not  kill — strengthens." 

"  Do  you  favor  the  philosophy,  which  teaches  that  a  certain 
amount  of  trouble  is  necessary  for  the  complete  development 
of  character?" 

"  Whether  necessary  or  not — it  comes.  That  is  not  a  matter 
of  hypothesis ;  but  I  have  seen  some,  who,  I  did  not  think, 
required  discipline ;  and  many  more,  who  wanted  softening, 
instead  of  hardening." 

"  Is  hardening  the  legitimate  effect  of  sorrow  ?"  asked  he,  more 
gravely.  "  When  the  chastening  is  guided  by  love,  does  it  not 
melt  and  refine  ?  Are  strength  and  hardness  synonymous  ?" 

«  I  question  the  difference,  sir, — as  the  world  goes." 


ALONE.  73 

"  Instead  of  referring  to  <  the  world/  in  an  abstract  sense- 
judge  we  of  the  influence  of  trials,  by  what  we  know  of  our- 
selves. I  never  tasted  .real  happiness,  until  I  learned  to  bear 
grief,  by  submitting  to  the  will  of  Providence." 

"  And  one  affliction  has  embittered  life  for  me !"  returned  Ida, 
gloomily. 

"  Poor  child !"  then  recollecting  himself,  he  addressed  Carry  in 
a  jesting  tone.  "And  you — Miss  Carry — what  is  your  vote 
upon,  this  important  question  ?" 

"I have  had  no  trouble,  sir,"  replied  she,  lightly,  "except 
school-quarrels.  You  would  not  class  them  in  the  category  of 
tribulations." 

There  was  sadness  in  her  father's  look  of  love,  as  he  answered, 
"  I  hope  you  may  long  be  able  to  say  so,  dear !" 

Carry  brushed  away  the  mist  from  her  lashes.  " '  A  consum- 
mation devoutly  to  be  desired,' — as  Charley,  or  Shakspeare 
would  say.  Where  is  he,  father  ?" 

"  Who  ?  Shakspeare  or  Charley  ?" 

"  The  latter,  of  course. '  Apart  from  his  probable  location 
being  more  easily  decided  upon, — he  is,  to  me,  the  more  interest- 
ing of  the  two/ 

"He  is  somewhere  in  the  "Western  part  of  the  State; — 
travelling,  partly  for  pleasure.  Johu  told  you,  that  they  have  com- 
mitted the  New  York  branch  of  the  business  to  Mr.  E , 

and  that  Charley  will  in  future  reside  in  Kichmond." 

"Yes,  sir.  I  was  glad  to  hear  it;  I  understood,  however,  that 
this  change  would  not  be  made  before  Fall.  In  the  interim,  are 
not  we  to  be  favoured  with  his  company  ?" 

"  I  trust  so.  It  will  seem  like  old  times  for  us  all  to  be 
together  again." 

"  I  hope  he  will  come  while  you  are  with  us,  Ida,"  said  Carry. 
"  I  am  so  anxious  you  should  know  him !" 

"You  have  seen  him,  surely,  Miss  Ida  ?"  said  Dr.  Carleton. 

"  I  have  not  yet  had  that  pleasure,  sir." 

"  He  is  an  original  worth  studying." 

"  I  can  credit  that.  Elle's  panegyrics  would  have  created  a 
desire  to  see  this  nonpareil  of  an  <  Uncle  Charley/  and  Carry  has 
raised  my  curiosity  to  the  highest  pitch,  by  naming  him  as  the 
successful  rival  of  Shakspeare." 


72  ALONE. 

"  Oh  I"  cried  Carry,  laughing.  "  I  said  more  interesting  to 
me.  Charley  is  one  of  my  pets;  and  I  am  afraid  I  have 
presented  you  with  an  erroneously  flattered  picture  of  him.  You 
must  not  look  for  an  <  Admirable  Crichton.'  He  is  not  one  to 
please  the  fancy  on  a  slight  acquaintance." 

"  Is  he  as  handsome  as  his  brother  ?" 

"  Which  brother  ?"  inquired  the  Doctor ;  and  Carry  blushed. 

«I  have  met  but  one,"  said  Ida.  "I  consider  Mr.  John 
Dana  very  fine-looking." 

« I  will  repeat  Charley's  ideas  of  what  he  styles,  his  <  personal 
pulchritude/  "  responded  Carry.  "  He  says  he  thanks  Heaven 
he  is  not  handsome.  To  endow  him  with  a  moderate  share  of 
beauty,  some  one  would  have  been  deprived  of  his,  or  her  good 
looks.  No  broken  hearts  are  laid  at  the  door  of  his  conscience." 
<  Yes' — concluded  he,  triumphantly — <  A  man  ought  to  be  grate- 
ful for  ugliness ;  and  I  am  persuaded  that  not  many  have  as  much 
cause  to  rejoice  on  that  score  as  myself!' " 

"  He  is  not  homely,"  said  her  father,  warmly. 

"  Ah  father  !  other  people  tell  a  different  story." 

"  That  may  be  ;  but  where  you  find  one  handsomer  face  than 
his,  you  see  a  thousand  destitute  of  its  intelligence  and  agreeable- 
ness." 

"  Granted.  Homely  or  not,  I  prefer  him  to  any  doll-faced 
dandy  of  my  acquaintance." 

"  He  is  fortunate  in  his  advocates/'  said  Ida.  "  He  has  the 
art  of  making  friends." 

"Because  he  is  such  a  firm  friend  himself,"  replied  Carry. 
"  Yet  some  will  have  it  that  he  is  frivolous  and  unfeeling.  The 
only  satirical  remark  I  was  ever  gnilty  of,  was  extorted  by  an  asper- 
sion of  this  kind.  A  lady  was  offended  by  a  playful  bagatelle 
of  his ;  and  thinking  that  I  would  be  a  sure  medium  of  com- 
municating her  wrath  to  its  object,  criticised  him  unsparingly. 
She  ridiculed  his  person  and  manners; — I  said  nothing.  She 
said  he  was  bankrupt  in  chivalry  and  politeness.  .  I  smiled ;  and 
she  blazed  out  a  philippic  against  his  <  disgusting  levity  and 
nonsense — he  had  not  a  spark  of  feeling,  or  grain  of  sense — 
intelligent  indeed !  for  her  part  she  had  never  heard  him  say  a 
smart  or  sensible  thing  yet.' — I  put  in  my  oar  here — <  You  will 
then  alloW'him  one  talent,  at  least;  the  ability  to  adapt  his 


A  L  0  X  E  .  73 

conversation  to  the  company  he  is  in.'  I  repented  having  said 
it ,  but  it  quieted  her." 

"  You  did  not  reproach  yourself  for  taking  the  part  of  your 
friend !" 

"No,  out  I  might  have  done  it  in  a  less  objectionable  manner. 
It  did  not  alter  her  feelings  to  him,  and  caused  her  to  dislike 
me." 

"  How  is  it,  sir,  that  I  hear  so  much  more  of  this  one  of  your 
former  wards,  than  of  his  younger  brother  ?"  said  Ida  to  the 
Doctor. 

The  question  was  innocently  propounded,  and  for  an  instant, 
she  was  puzzled  by  the  quizzical  demureness,  with  which  he 
glanced  at  his  daughter. 

"  This  is  a  serious  charge,  Carry.  Your  predilection  for  one 
old  play-fellow  should  not  make  you  forgetful  of  another." 

She  was  looking  down,  touching  the  shining  tire  of  the  wheel 
with  the  tip  of  her  gloved  finger.  The  truth  beamed  upon  Ida; 
and  with  it  a  thousand  little  circumstances  she  had  been  blindly 
stupid  not  to  understand  before.  Her  intelligent  eye  said  the 
mystery  was  explained,  but  she  forbore  to  say  so  in  words.  Dr. 
Carleton  went  on  in  a  changed  tone. 

"  Arthur  is  not  a  whit  behind  his  brothers  in  sterling  worth, 
or  personal  graces.  He  is  associated  with  me  in  the  practice  of 
medicine,  and  unites  a  skill  and  prudence,  rarely  found  in  one  so 
young.  He  is  popular,  and  deservedly  so." 

Carry  bestowed  a  grateful  smile  upon  him,  and  was  answered 
in  the  same  mute  language.  In  such  desultory  chat,  the  sunny 
hours  ran  out.  They  travelled  well ;  only  stopping  an  hour  to 
dine  and  rest;  yet  twilight  saw  them  eight  miles  from  their  des- 
tination. Each  was  disposed  to  silence,  as  the  light  grew  dim- 
mer j  and  when  the  moon  smiled  at  them  above  the  tree-tops, 
she  elicited  but  a  single  observation  of  her  beauty.  The  road 
was  lonely  and  sheltered;  bordered  by  forests  on  one  side,  and 
thicket-grown  banks  on  the  other ;  the  soil  sandy  and  heavy ; 
the  tramp  of  hoofs  scarcely  heard,  and  the  wheels  rolling  with  a 
low,  crushing  sound,  that,  to  Ida,  was  not  unmusical.  Silver 
willows,  and  twisting  <  bamboo '  Mines,  and  the  long-leaved 
Typha  Latifolia  edged  the  road ,  and  she  watched  through  the 
openings  in  the  woven  screen,  for  a  glimpse  of  the  stream  that 


74  ALONE. 

watered  their  roots;  sometimes  deceived  by  the  shimmer  of  the 
moon  upon  the  leaves;  sometimes,  by  the  white  sands,  until  she 
doubted  whether  there  was  indeed  one  there ; — when  the  gurgling 
of  falling  waters  betrayed  the  modest  brooklet,  and  it  widened 
into  a  pretty  pool;  the  moon's  silver  shield  upon  its  bosom. 
The  thicket  became  taller,  and  not  so  dense ;  tulip  trees  and  oaks 
in  place  of  the  aquatic  undergrowth;  and  between  them  the 
fleeting  glimmerings  of  the  sky  were,  to  her,  an  army  of  pale 
spectres,  marching  noiselessly  past ;  no  halting  or  wavering ;  on, 
on,  in  unbroken  cavalcade,  "  down  to  the  dead."  And  memory, 
at  fancy's  call,  produced  the  long  roll  of  those  who  had  gone  to 
the  world  of  shades; — the  master-spirits  of -all  ages; — the 
oppressed  and  the  oppressor ; — the  lovely  and  the  loved ; — had 
joined  that  phantom  procession ; — how  few  leaving  even  the 
legacy  of  a  name  to  earth !  With  the  Persian  Poet,  her  heart 
cried  out — »  Where  are  they  ?"  and  echo  answered — "  Where 
are  they  ?"  And  thought  poured  on  thought,  under  the  weird 
influence  of  that  enchanted  night,  until  the  shadowy  host  was  the 
one  reality  in  the  landscape ;  and  one  and  another  beckoned  and 
waved  to  her,  as  they  defiled  by.  She  came  near  shrieking — so 
startled  was  she — as  a  horseman  reined  up  at  the  window.  The 
moon  was  at  his  back ;  but  showed  every  lineament  of  her  coun- 
tenance. He  raised  his  hat.  "  Miss  Ross,  I  believe.  I  fear  my 
sudden  appearance  has  alarmed  you." 

"Arthur!  my  boy !  how  are  you?"  exclaimed  Dr.  Carleton, 
extending  his  hand,  which  was  as  eagerly  seized.  »  Miss  Eoss — 
Dr.  Dana." 

"  Miss  Eoss  will  excuse  me  for  having  anticipated  the  intro- 
duction," said  he,  bowing  again,  and  rode  to  the  opposite  side  of 
the  carriage.  The  greetings  there  were  more  quiet;  but  it 
needed  not  Ida's  delicate  ear  to  detect  the  feeling  in  the  voices 
which  tried  to  say  common-place  things.  Arthur  had  much  to 
pay  to  the  doctor,  and  once  in  a  while  a  remark  for  her — Carry 
remaining  in  the  back-ground. 

"  Were  you  uneasy  that  we  did  not  arrive  ?"  asked  Dr. 
Carleton. 

"Not  uneasy — but  restless;  and  to  relieve  my  impatience 
rode  out  to  meet  you." 

He  was  first  on  this  side — now  on  that — as  the  highway 


ALONE.  75 

afforded  him  room ;  but  Ida  could  not  get  a  view  of  his  face. 
His  figure  was  good,  and  he  sat  his  horse  well ; — upon  these 
facts,  and  such  impressions  as  were  made  by  a  pleasant  voice  and 
gentlemanly  address,  she  was  obliged  to  form  her  opinion  of  his 
personal  appearance,  until  more  light  should  be  shed  upon  the 
subject.  The  house  appeared,  approached  by  a  shady  lane,  and 
so  embowered  in  trees,  that  only  the  chimneys  were  visible  from 
the  main  road.  Carry's  tongue  was  unloosed  as  she  bounded 
into  the  midst  of  the  sable  throng  that  swarmed  about  the  car- 
riage. Arthur  exclaimed  merrily  at  the  clamor  of  blessings  and 
inquiries. 

"  Will  you  accept  me  as  your  attendant,  Miss  Koss  ?  The 
ceremony  of  reception  will  last  some  time  " 

But  Carry  was  in  the  piazza  as  soon  as  they  were. 

"  Thank  you,  Arthur,  for  taking  charge  of  her.  Welcome  to 
Poplar-grove,  dear  Ida !  May  you  be  as  happy  here  as  I  have 
been!" 

"  Amen  \"  said  Dr.  Carleton  and  Arthur,  heartily. 

Carry  acted  like  a  wild  creature  all  the  evening.  She  half- 
carried  Ida  to  her  chamber,  and  kissed  her  over  and  over. 

"  Now,  darling !"  she  ran  on,  strewing  their  shawls  and  bon 
nets  in  all  directions.  "  You  see  I  have  no  idea  of  putting  you 
off,  company  style,  in  another  room.  You  will  be  with  me  morn- 
ing, noon,  and  night.  My  dear,  dear  room  !  how  natural  it  looks ' 
and  to  think  I  am  never  to  leave  it  again !" 

"  Bless  your  heart !"  said  a  middle-aged  mulatto  woman,  whose 
mild  and  pleasing  face  struck  Ida  as  much  as  her  motherly  kind- 
ness to  her  young  mistress,  "  You  are  not  half  so  glad  to  get  back 
as  we  are  to  have  you  here." 

"  Hush,  Mammy  !  you  will  make  me  cry.  Comb  my  hair — 
will  you  ?  Not  that  I  do  not  believe  you  could  do  it,  Sally ;  but 
it  used  to  be  Mammy's  work." 

«  Thoughtful  of  others  still,"  reflected  Ida,  as  the  girl  Sally 
displayed  a  double  row  of  ivories,  at  Carry's  apology.  "  Can 
nothing  make  her  selfish  ?" 

"  We  wont't  waste  time  by  an  elaborate  toilet,  dear,"  said 
Carry,  seeing  Ida  deliberating  upon  two  dresses.  "  Father  will 
be  too  much  engaged  with  his  supper  to  notice  our  dress.  Wear 
the  plain  white  one ;  it  is  very  becoming ;  and  remember,  you 
are  in  the  back-woods." 


76  ALONE. 

Arthur  was  in  the  parlor  when  they  descended.  He  looked 
as  happy  as  Carry,  and  "  almost  as  good,"  thought  Ida.  She 
was  not  de  trop ;  it  might  have  been  a  brother  and  sister  who 
strove  to  convince  her  that  this,  their  home,  was  hers  for  the 
time-being.  The  supper-table  was  set  with  taste  and  profusion. 
Ida  wondered  whether  the  menage  were  entirely  controlled  by 
coloured  servants.  She  learned  afterwards  that  "Mammy," 
trained  by  Mrs.  Carleton,  and  until  that  lady's  death,  her  con- 
stant attendant,  was  housekeeper. 

"  You  have  not  much  affection  for  a  city  life,  Miss  Ida/'  said 
Arthur,  continuing  a  conversation  commenced  in  the  parlor. 

"  No.  I  am  country-bred,  and  cherish  a  preference  for  the 
scenes  of  my  childhood.  Perhaps,"  she  said,  ingenuously,  "  the 
fault  is  in  myself.  I  did  not  want  to  live  in  Richmond,  and 
determined  not  to  like  it." 

"  And  are  your  aversions  so  strong  that  the  manifold  attrac- 
tions of  the  metropolis  cannot  shake  them?  or,  are  you  countrified 
upon  principle  ?" 

"  I  have  not  given  the  city  a  fair  trial.  It  has  occurred  to 
me  lately  that  my  weariness  of  it  proceeded  from  monotony 
rather  than  satiety.  There  is  little  variety  in  school  life." 

"  Except  when  we  regard  it  as  the  world  in  miniature,"  said 
Arthur.  «  It  is  different,  doubtless,  in  '  Young  Lady  Establish- 
ments/ but  we  boys  contrived  to  maintain  a  healthy  circulation, 
one  way  or  another." 

"  Is  it  not  a  popular  fallacy  that  school-days  are  the  happiest 
of  one's  life  ?"  asked  Ida. 

"  Unquestionably,"  rejoined  he,  promptly.  "As  well  say  that 
Spring  is  the  farmer's  happiest  season.  He  has  the  pleasures 
of  hope,  the  delight  of  viewing  his  whitening  harvests  in 
future;  but  there  is  severe,  unromantic  drudgery;  suspense  and 
boding  fears  for  the  result.  The  '  harvest  home'  for  me ! 

"  And  when  is  that !"  questioned  Ida. 

"  Now  !"  said  he,  with  emphasis. 

11  What  do  you  mean  ?"  inquired  Carry. 

"  That  you  and  Miss  Ida  begin  to  reap  from  this  date.  To 
dispense  with  this  inconvenient  metaphor,  your  acticns  will  be 
the  proof  of  what  your  lessons  have  been ;  every  day  your 
knowledge  and  principles  will  be  brought  into  play, — you  will 
be  binding  up  sheaves  of  worthy  or  of  evil  deeds." 


ALONE.  7T 

"  You  are  trying  to  terrify  us,"  said  Carry.    "  Don't  you  wish 
yourself  at  school  again,  Ida  ?" 

"  Are  you  sorry  you're  a-goin'  to  turn  out  ?"  replied  Ida,  in  a 
peculiar  tone. 

"  Oh,  Celestia !"  exclaimed  Carry,  with  a  hurst  of  laughter. 
«  Who  ?  what  ?"  said  her  father. 

"  One  of  our  school-mates,  father ;  who,  hearing  another  say 
that  she  was  sorry  to  quit  school,  went  through  the  house  the 
day  we  were  dismissed,  asking  each  one  confidentially,  {  Are  you 
sorry  you're  a-goin  to  turn  out  ?'  grief  at  such  an  event  being, 
in  her  code,  a  more  heinous  sin  than  to  dance  at  a  funeral." 
1  Who  was  she  ?"  asked  Arthur. 
'  Miss  Pratt — Celestia  Pratt." 

Daughter  of  the  member  from  A ?" 

The  same — what  do  you  know  of  her  ?" 
1  I  met  her  once  at  a  ball,"  he  replied. 
'  Were  you  introduced  ?"  cried  both  girls  in  a  breath. 
<  Yes ;  and  danced  with  her." 

Enough  1"  said  Carry.     "  We  will  not  pursue  the  subject." 
"  As  you  please,"  he  returned;  "but 'if  I  am  not  mistaken,  as 
Sir  Roger  says,  though  with  a  different  meaning,  <  much  could 
be  said  on  both  sides.'  " 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

POPLAR-GROVE  was  comparatively  a  modern  place;  having 
been  built  by  the  present  proprietor  at  the  time  of  his  marriage. 
The  house  was  of  brick,  large  and  commodious ;  and  flanked  by 
neat  out-houses  and  servants'  quarters,  presenting  an  imposing 
appearance,  an,  air  of  lordly  beauty.  The  shade  trees  were 
forest-born;  the  maple,  oak,  beech,  and  fairest  of  all,  the  tulip- 
poplar.  Excepting  in  the  green-house,  on  the  south  side  of  the 
mansion,  and  a  rose-creeper  that  climbed  upon  the  piazza,  not  a 
flower  was  tolerated  within  the  spacious  yard,  and  the  sward  was 
always  green  and  smooth.  Dr.  Carleton's  seat  was  the  pride  and 
envy  of  the  country.  "  No  wonder,"  growled  the  croakers;  "  a 


78  ALONE. 

man  with  a  plenty  of  money  can  afford  to  be  comfortable."  They 
lived  in  barn-like  structures,  treeless  andyardless;  (and  who  that 
has  travelled  in  our  commonwealth,  but  knows  the  heart-sicken- 
ing aspect  of  these  out-of-door  habitations?)  raising  vegetables, 
because  they  must  be  had  to  eat;  planting  orchards,  and  suffer- 
ing them  to  dwindle  and  pine,  for  want  of  attention ;  and  exist- 
ing themselves  after  the  same  shambling  style,  because  they 
"  had  it  to  do ;"  content  to  "  get  along,"  and  not  feeling  the 
need  of  anything  higher,  until  the  buried — not  dead — sense  of 
the  beautiful  was  exhumed  by  the  sight  of  the  work  of  taste  and 
industry;  and  the  stupid  stare  waa  succeeded  by  jealous  repin- 
ings,  and  the  writing  down  of  a  long  score  against  Providence. 
"  I  tell  you  what,  my  friend,"  the  doctor  said  to  one  of  these 
murmurers,  "  instead  of  harping  so  much  upon  one  P,  try  my 
three,  and  my  word  for  it,  your  wishes  will  be  fulfilled  sooner 
by  fifty  years — they  are,  Planting,  Perseverance  and  Paint." 

In  the  garden,  beauty  and  utility  joined  hands,  and  danced 
together  down  the  walks.  There  were  squares  of  thrifty  vegeta- 
bles, deserving  a  home  in  the  visioned  Eden  of  an  ambitious 
horticulturist ;  and  the  banished  floral  treasures  here  expanded 
in  every  variety  of  hue  and  fragrance.  There  grew  hedges  of 
roses,  and  the  dwarf  lilac,  and  the  jessamine  family,  the  star, 
the  Catalonian,  the  white  and  yellow,  thatching  one  arbor ; 
while  the  odorous  Florida,  the  coral,  and  the  more  common  but 
dearer  English  honeysuckles  wreathed  their  lithe  tendrils  over 
another;  and  ever-blowing  wall-flowers,  humble  and  sweet,  gaudy 
beds  of  carnations,  and  brightly-smiling  coreopsis,  and  pure  lilies 
with  their  fragrant  hearts  powdered  with  golden  dust — a  witch- 
ing wilderness  of  delights.  Trellises,  burdened  with  ripening 
grapes,  were  the  boundary  line  between'  the 'garden  and  the 
orchard.  The  same  just  sense  of  order  and  well-being  regulated 
the  whole  plantation.  Kindness  was  the  main-spring  of  the 
machinery,  but 'it  was  a  kindness  that  knew  how  to  punish  as 
well  as  reward.  ' 

«  Do  you  believe  in  the  unity  of  the  human  race?"  asked  Ida, 
one  evening,  as  she  and  Carry  were  taking  their  twilight  prome- 
nade in  the  long  parlor. 

"Assuredly;  but  what  put  that  into  your  head  just  now  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  your  father ;  and  trying  to  realize  that  he 


ALONE.  79 

belongs  to  the  same  species  with  others  I  could  name.  I  am 
compelled  to  the  conclusion  that  he  is  an  appendix^  a  later  crea- 
tion, a  type  of  what  man  would  have  been  had  he  not  <  sought 
out  many  inventions.'  " 

"  And  what  new  instance  of  his  immaculateness  has  induced 
this  sapient  belief?" 

"  I  was  sitting  at  the  window  this  afternoon,  before  he  went 
out,  when  I  heard  him  call  to  little  Dick  to  bring  his  saddle- 
bags from  'the  office/  The  boy  scampered  off,  and  presently 
appeared  running,  still  holding  the  precious  load  with  great  care 
in  both  hands.  '  Steady,  my  lad/  said  your  father,  and  as  the 
warning  passed  his  lips,  Dick  tripped  his  foot,  and  came  down — 
the  saddle-bags  under  him.  He  cried  loudly,  and  your  father 
ran  to  pick  him  up — what  do  you  suppose  he  said  ?" 

"  Inquired  if  he  was  hurt,  of  course." 

"He  did — but  reflect!  every  phial  was  smashed,  and  that  is 
no  trifle  this  far  from  the  city,  I  take  it.  Yes — he  set  the  little 
chap  upon  his  feet,  and  asked  after  the  integrity  of  his  bones  j 
and  when  he  sobbed,  '  I  aint  hurt,  sir — but  de  bottles — dey's 
all  broke !'  patted  him  upon  the  head,  and  bade  him  '  stop  crying 
— master  isn't  angry — you  won't  run  so  fast  next  time,'  and  let 
him  go.  Then,  kneeling  upon  the  grass,  he  unlocked  the 
portable  apothecary-shop,  and  pulled  out  gallipots  and  packages, 
fractured  and  stained  in  every  imaginable  shape  and  manner — 
looking  seriously  perplexed.  *  This  is  an  awkward  business,' 
he  said,  aloud ;  <  and  my  stock  is  so  nearly  out !  but  accidents 
will  happen.'  " 

"And  is  that  all  ?"  said  Carry. 

" '  All  1'  I  have  seen  men  affect  forbearance,  and  talk  largely 
of  forgiveness,  when  they  wanted  to  '  show  off,'  but  he  did  not 
know  that  I  was  within  hearing.  Some  other  principle  was  at 
work.  I  wonder,"  she  said,  with  a  short  laugh,  "what  my 
esteemed  guardian  would  have  said  upon  the  occasion !  He 
punishes  a  menial  more  severely  for  an  accident,  or  thoughtless- 
ness, than  for  deliberate  villany." 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  uphold  Mr.  Read's  doctrines  or  practice. 
I  am  afraid  he  is  thoroughly  selfish,  and  Josephine  is  too  close 
a  copy  of  him  to  suit  my  fancy — but  why  think  or  speak  ot 
them?  Did  vou  not  nrnmise  to  sec  life  through  my  spectacles 


80  .  ALONE. 

awhile  ?  There  is  a  hard  look  in  your  eye,  and  a  scorn  in  your 
tone,  when  you  refer  to  them,  that  repel  me.  It  is  so  unlike 
you  !" 

"  So  like  me,  Carry  !  My  character  is  velvet  or  fur — stroKe  it 
in  one  direction,  and  you  enhance  whatever  of  beauty  or  gloss  it 
possesses ;  reverse  the  motion,  and  you  encounter  rough  prickles, 
and  in  certain  states  of  the  atmosphere,  more  electricity  than  is 
agreeable  or  safe.  I  am  not  changed.  The  hand  of  affection  is 
gliding  over  me  now ;  you  may  do  what  you  will  with  me." 

"  But  you  are  happier  than  you  used  to  be  ?" 

"  I  am — happier  in  you  !  Do  you  recollect  the  stormy 
November  evening  when  you  <  took  me  in  ?'  Cold,  and  wet, 
and  shivering  as  was  the  body,  the  heart  stood  more  in  need  of 
comfort;  and  you  warmed  it — taught  me  that  woman  is  woman 
still — brow-beaten,  insulted,  crushed !  The  poor,  soiled  flowerets 
of  love  will  smile,  despite  of  all — in  the  face  of  him,  or  her 
whose  pitying  hand  lifts  them  up.  Carry  !  you  do  not  know 
what  depends  upon  your  fidelity  !  Have  you  not  read  in  that 
most  wondrous  of  books,  how  the  evil  spirit  returned  to  the 
house,  which,  in  his  absence,  was  swept  and  garnished,  and  that 
the  latter  end  of  that  man  was  worse  than  the  first?" 

"  Ida !  my  own  friend !  how  can  you  hint  such  frightful 
things  ?  I  do  love  you — very  dearly  ?  You  cannot  doubt  me." 

"  Not  now.  But  will  the  time  never  come,  when  other  claims 
will  dispossess  me  of  my  place  ?  Do  not  despise  me,  darling ! 
Do  not  impute  to  me  the  meanness  of  being  envious  of  your 
happiness.  I  rejoice  with,  and  am  proud  for  you — proud  of  your 
choice.  He  is  all  that  a  man  should  be — let  me  say  it — I  have 
never  told  you  so  before; — but  is  it  true  love  expels  friendship? 
You  will  be  as  dear  to  me  married  as  single ;  why  should  your 
affection  decrease  ?" 

« It  will  not !"  Could  it  be  the  modest  Carry  who  spoke  ? 
"Judge  for  yourself.  Arthur  and  I  have  loved  from  childhood. 
He  spoke  to  me  of  his  hopes  two  years  ago,  but  father  exacted 
from  us  a  promise  that  no  love  but  that  of  brother  and  sister 
should  be  named  between  us  until  my  school-days  were  at  an 
end.  Yet  I  knew  that  I  was  not  a  sister  to  him ;  and,  to  me, 
he  was  more  than  the  world  besides : — and  with  this  sweet  con- 
sciousness singing  its  song  of  hope  and  blessedness  within  my 


ALONE.  81 

heart,  I  found  room  for  you ;  and  lover  and  friend  were  eaci 
the  dearer  for  the  other's  company.  You  will  understand  this 
some  day,  dear  Ida.  You  are  made  tc  be  loved — you  cannol 
exist  without  it,  and  you  will  achieve  your  destiny." 

"  That  love  is  to  be  my  redemption,  Carry.  In  the  uppei 
region  of  the  air  there  is  eternal  calm  and  sunshine,  while  the 
clouds  brood  and  crash  below.  Such  calm  and  light  shall  my 
love  win  for  me.  I  have  dwelt  for  years  in  the  black,  noisome 
vapors — I  am  rising  now !  Is  it  not  Jean  Paul  who  says — 
1  Love  may  slumber  in  a  young  maiden's  heart,  but  he  always 
dreams !'  I  have  had  dreams — day  visions,  more  transporting 
than  any  the  night  bestows.  I  have  dreamed  that  my  wayward*3, 
will  bent,  in  glad  humility,  to  a  stronger  and  wiser  mind ; —  \ 
that  my  eye  fell  beneath  the  fondness  of  one  that  quailed  at 
nothing;  that  I  leaned  my  tired  head  upon  a  bosom,  whose  every 
throb  was  to  me  an  earnest  of  his  abiding  truth ;  and  drank  in 
the  music  of  a  voice,  whose  sweetest  accent  was  the  low  whisper 
that  called  me  'his  own!'  'These  are  not  chance  vagaries;  they 
have  been  the  food  of  my  heart  for  long  and  dreary  months ; 
angel-voices  about  my  pillow — my  companions  in  the  still  twi- 
light hour — summoned  by  pleasure  or  pain,  to  sympathise  and 
console.  Then  my  breast  is  a  temple,  consecrated  to  an  ideal, 
but  none  the  less  fervent  in  the  devotion  offered  therein ;  the 
hoarded  riches  of  a  lifetime  are  heaped  upon  his  shrine.  I  have 
imagined  him  high  in  the  world's  opinion ;  doing  his  part  nobly 
in  the  strife  of  life; — and  I,  unawed  by  the  laurel-crown — 
unheeding  it — say,  <  Love  me — only  love  me  !'  I  love  to  fancy, 
and  feel  him  present,  and  sing  to  him  the  strains  which  gush 
from  my  soul  at  his  coming.  This  is  one." 

She  left  Carry's  side.  A  lightly-played  prelude  floated  through 
the  darkening  room,  then  a  recitative,  of  which  the  words  and 
music  seemed  alike  born  out  of  the  impulse  of  the  hour  : 


Thy  heart  is  like  the  billowy  tide 

Of  some  impetuous  river, 
That  mighty  in  its  power  and  pride, 

Sweeps  on  and  on  forever. 
The  white  foam  is  its  battle  crest, 

As  to  the  charge  it  rushes 
And  from  its  vast  and  panting  breast, 

A  stormy  shout  up  gushes. 


82  ALONE. 

•  Through  all — o'er  all — my  way  I  cleave — 

Each  barrier  down-bearing — 
1'atne  is  the  guerdon  of  the  brave, 

And  victory  of  the  daring  !" 
While  mine  is  like  the  brooklet's  flow, 

Through  peaceful  valley's  gliding  ; 
O'er  which  the  willow  boughs  bend  low 

The  tiny  wavelet  hiding. 

And  as  it  steals  on,  calm  and  clear, 

A  little  song  'tis  singing, 
That  vibrates  soft  upon  the  ear, 

Like  fairy  vespers  ringing. 
"  Love  me — love  me  !"  it  murmurs  o'erf 

'Midst  light  and  shadows  ranging, 
"  Love  me,"  it  gurgles  evermore, 

The  burden  never  changing. 

Thine  is  the  eagle's  lofty  flight, 

With  ardent  hope,  aspiring 
E'en  to  the  flaming  source  of  light, 

Undoubting  and  untiring. 
Glory,  with  gorgeous  sunbeam,  throws 

An  Iris  mantle  o'er  thee — 
A  radiant  present  round  thee  glows — 

Deathless  renown  before  thee. 

And  I,  like  a  shy,  timid  dove, 

That  shuns  noon's  fervid  beaming, 
And  far  within  the  silent  grove, 

Sits,  lost  in  loving  dreaming — 
Turn,  half  in  joy,  and  half  in  fear, 

From  thine  ambitious  soaring, 
And  seek  to  hide  me  from  the  glare, 

That  o'er  thy  track  is  pouring. 

I  cannot  echo  back  the  notes 

Of  triumph  thou  art  pealing, 
But  from  my  woman's  heart  there  floats 

The  music  of  one  feeling, 
One  single,  longing,  pleading  moan, 

Whose  voice  I  cannot  smother — 
"Love  me — love  me!"  its  song  alone, 

And  it  will  learn  no  other ! 

There  was  a  long  stillness.  Carry  was  weeping  silently.  She 
was  a  novice  to  the  world,  and  believed  that  many  were  guileless 
and  loving  as  herself;  but  she  felt,  as  she  listened  to  this  enthu 
siastic  outflow  from  ice-girt  depths,  unfathomable  to  her,  unsus- 
pected by  others,  that  terrible  woe  was  in  reserve  for  the  heart 
so  suddenly  unveiled.  There  was,  about  Ida,  when  her  real 
character  came  into  action,  an  earnestness  of  passion  and  senti- 
ment that  forbade  the  utterance  of  trite  counsels  or  cautions ; 


ALONE.  83 

the  tide  would  have  its  way,  and  one  must  abide  its  ebb  in 
patience.  Her  first  words  .showed  that  it  had  retired. 

"  I  appear  strangely  fitful  to  your  gentle  little  self,  dear  one. 
It  is  seldom  that  I  yield  to  these  humours.  You  have  pierced 
to  the  bottom  of  my  heart  to-night;"  linking  her  arm  again  in 
Carry's.  "  Forget  my  vehemence,  and  believe  me  if  you  will, 
the  iceberg  people  say  I  am." 

"  Never  !  oh,  Ida  !  Why  do  yourself  such  injustice?  Why 
not  let  your  friends  know  that  you  have  feeling  ?  They  would 
love  you  but  the  more." 

"  Do  not  believe  it.  I  should  be  sent  to  the  Insane  Hospital. 
Hearts  are  at  a  discount  in  the  market  just  now,  and  hypocrisy 
above  par." 

"  There  you  go  !"  exclaimed  Carry.  "  One  moment  all  soft- 
ness— the  next,  an  ocean  is  between  us.  Contradictory  enigma ! 
If  I  loved  you  less,  I  should  be  angry.  You  read  every  leaf  of 
my  heart  as  easily  as  you  unfold  a  newspaper;  and  just  as  I 
fancy  that  I  have  the  key  to  yours,  it  is  shut  close — a  casket, 
whose  spring  I  cannot  find." 

"  Or  like  an  oyster,"  said  Ida.  «  Apropos  de  bottes — here 
come  the  candles,  harbingers  of  supper,  and  I  hear  our  brace  of 
Esculapii,  upon  the  porch,  ready  to  discuss  it." 

Carry  asked  herself  if  it  could  be  the  impassioned  improvisa- 
trice,  who  charmed  her  father  and  Arthur  into  forgetfulness  of 
professional  anxieties,  and  the  attractions  of  the  inviting  board, 
by  her  brilliant  play  of  wit,  sparkling  and  pleasant  as  foam  upon 
champagne,  without  its  evanescence.  The  gentlemen  admired 
and  liked  her.  That  they  unconsciously  identified  her  with 
Carry,  may  have  accounted  for  this,  in  part,  but  most  was  owing 
to  her  powers  of  pleasing.  An  inquiry,  made  with  extreme 
gravity,  as  to  the  number  and  welfare  of  their  patients,  was  the 
preface  to  a  burlesque  sketch  of  the  saddle-bag  scene;  in  which, 
not  a  hint  of  the  reflections  it  inspired,  escaped  her ;  and  when 
she  described  the  doctor's  rueful  countenance,  as  he  held  tip  the 
neck  and  stopple  of  a  large  phial,  saying  dolefully,  "  The  Calo- 
mel too,  and  three  cases  of  fever  on  hand !'  Arthur  resigned 
knife  and  fork,  in  despair  of  eating  another  mouthful,  and  Dr. 
Carleton  drew  out  his  Bandanna  to  wipe  off  the  coursing  tears. 

«  Hist,"  said  Ida,  her  finger  uplifted,  «  some  one  is  coming !" 


84  ALONE. 

The  roll  of  an  approaching  vehicle  was  plainly  heard ;  the  coach- 
man's sharp  "  Whoa  I"  followed  by  a  cheer,  in  sound  like  a  view- 
hallo,  but  it  said,  "  Ship  ahoy  !" 

"  Charley  !  Charley  !"  screamed  Carry,  upsetting  the  tea-urn 
on  her  way  to  the  door,  pursued  by  Arthur  and  Dr.  Carleton. 
Ida  went  as  far  as  the  porch.  She  heard  Mrs.  John  Dana's 
voice,  then  her  husband's;  and  Elle's  incoherent  response  to  the 
efforts  made  to  awaken  her;  but  the  stranger  was  chief  spokes- 
man. "  Look  after  your  wife  and  the  baggage,  John ;  I  will 
disembark  the  lighter  freight.  Elle  !  Elle  !  don't  you  want  to 
see  Aladdin's  lamp  ?  Aha !  well,  here  is  something  prettier — 
Aunt  Carry,  and  a  nice  supper.  Charley'  you  monkey!  wide 
awake  as  usual !  Feel  if  you  have  your  own  head,  my  boy  ! 
People  are  apt  to  make  mistakes  in  the  dark.  Give  me  that 
small-sized  bundle,  Jenny — you'll  lose  it  in  the  weeds,  and  then 
there  will  be  the  mischief  to  pay.  One,  two,  three,  all  right !" 
And  with  the  "  small-sized  bundle"  in  his  arms,  he  marched  up 
the  walk,  Carry  scolding  and  laughing. 

"  Charley  !  you  are  too  bad !  give  her  to  me — a  pretty  figure 
you  are,  playing  nurse  !" 

"  He  has  carried  her,  or  Elle,  before  him,  on  the  horse,  all 
the  way  !"  said  Mrs.  Dana.  "  Ida,  my  love,  how  do  you  do  ?" 
warmly  kissing  her."  John  Dana  shook  hands  with  her,  and 
Elle  cried,  "  Cousin  Ida !  you  here  at  grandpa's  !" 

Charley  gave  a  comic  glance  at  his  burden,  when  he  was  pre- 
sented ;  but  his  bow  was  respectful,  and  as  graceful  as  the  case 
admitted.  Ida  hardly  saw  him  until  the  second  supper  was 
served ;  Carry  insisting  that  she  should  occupy  her  accustomed 
seat,  and  go  through  the  form  of  eating.  Elle  petitioned  for  a 
chair  by  her,  and  th'e  three  brothers  were  together  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  table.  They  were  an  interesting  study.  John, 
with  his  strong,  dark,  yet  singularly  pleasing  physiognomy,  was 
the  handsomest ;  but  his  precedence  in  age,  and  perhaps  rougher 
experiences  in  life,  had  imparted  an  air  of  command,  which,  while 
it  became  him  well,  deterred  one  from  familiarity.  Charley  wa;i 
so  unlike  him,  that  the  supposition  of  their  being  of  the  same 
lineage,  seemed  absurd.  His  hair  and  complexion  were  many 
shades  lighter,  and  the  features  cast  in  a  different  mould,  his 
eyes  the  -only  fine  ones  in  the  set.  He  was  not  so  tall,  by  half  a 


ALONE.  85 

head,  and  more  slightly  built.  Arthur  was  the  connecting  link  ; 
with  John's  height,  and  Charley's  figure ;  the  perfect  mouth  and 
teeth  of  one ;  the  brown  eyes  of  the  other ;  and  hair  and  skin  a 
juste  milieu  between  the  two.  Ida's  attention  was  most  frequently 
directed  to  the  new-comer.  She  thought  him  more  homely  than 
his  brothers ;  and  it  certainly  was  not  a  family  resemblance  that 
troubled  her  with  the  notion,  that  she  had  seen  him  somewhere 
not  very  long  ago — when,  she  could  not  say — except  that  his 
expression  was  not  the  same  as  now.  Heedless  of  her  observa- 
tion, he  rattled  on  j  doing  ample  justice  to  the  edibles,  in  some 
unaccountable  manner ;  his  gastronomical  and  vocal  apparatus 
never  interfering ;  yet  withal,  he  was  an  excellent  listener ;  and 
allowed  the  rest  of  the  party  to  say  whatever  they  wished.  "  He 
would  be  worth  his  weight  in  gold  to  a  comic  almanac-maker," 
thought  Ida,  as  he  dashed  off  caricature  and  anecdote,  conveying 
a  character  in  an  epithet,  and  setting  the  table  in  a  roar,  by  a 
grimace  or  inflection.  His  pictures,  however,  were  coloured  by 
his  gay  mood  ;  there  were  no  frowning  portraits,  and  their  smiles 
were  all  broad  grins. 

"  You  have  not  learned  to  love  buttermilk,  yet,  Charley  ?" 
said  Carry,  as  John  called  for  a  second  tumbler  of  the  cooling 
beverage. 

"  Can't  say  that  I  have.  Did  I  write  you  an  account  of  my 
begging  expedition  ?" 

"  Begging !  no — tell  me  now." 

"  It  was  in  the  Valley.  Fitzgerald  and  I — you  know  Fitz., 
Arthur — were  on  a  hunting  frolic.  We  went  up  on  the  moun- 
tains, and  fell  in  with  game  in  abundance,  but  despicable 
accommodations.  We  were  at  it  for  three  days.  The  first 
night  we  <  camped  out/  gipsy  style  ;  built  a'rousing  fire  to  scare 
the  wild  beasts ;  wrapped  our  dreadnoughts  around  us,  and  '  lay, 
like  gentlemen  taking  a  snooze/  feet  towards  the  fire,  and  faces 
towards  the  moon.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  there  would 
be  precious  little  romance,  and  less  comfort,  in  this  very  roomy 
hotel ;  but  Fitz.  was  sentimentally  inclined,  and  I  let  him  alone. 
<  A  life  in  the  woods  for  me  '/  said  he,  as  he  stretched  himself 
upon  the  ground.  I  was  fast  asleep  in  two  minutes,  so  far  as 
Bounds  went.  'Charley  !'  he  exclaimed,  at  my  heavy  breathing. 


86  ALONE. 

<  Pshaw  !  he's  off !  he  has  no  more  poetry  m  him  than  there  ia 
in  a — rock.'" 

"  I  guessed  that  he  was  helped  to  this  illustration,  by  his  dis- 
covery of  the  quantity  of  the  substance  in  the  soil  thereabouts, 
for  he  shifted  his  position.  He  was  tolerably  still  for  about  five 
minutes ;  then  there  was  a  jerk,  and  '  I  have  not  picked  the 
softest  spot,  surely !'  After  another  season  of  quiet  came, 
'  How  he  sleeps !  If  he  were  to  swap  sides  with  me,  he  would 
not  be  disturbing  the  echoes  in  that  style  !' 

"  A  brief  objurgation  to  an  unnamed  annoyance,  was  comment 
fourth.  I  slept  on  perseveringly.  He  bore  it  for  an  hour,  and 
then  got  up  and  mended  the  fire,  by  which  he  was  moodily 
seated,  when  I  awoke  from  my  first  nap.  ' Hallo!'  said  I,  rub 
bing  my  eyes,  <  Is  it  morning  ?'  '  No  !  and  what's  more,  I  don't 
believe  it's  ever  coming  ?'  with  a  savage  accent.  <  Ah  well !  just 
hail  me  when  it  does  break/  and  I  dropped  back  '  That  is  more 
than  flesh  and  blood  can  bear  I'  said  he,  with  awful  deliberate- 
ness,  <  Here  I  can't  get  a  wink  of  sleep,  and  you  are  snoring 
away  with  a  forty  horse  power.  Maybe  you  think  you  are  on  a 
feather  bed,  man  !'  fiercely  ironical. 

" { A  feather  bed  !'  just  opening  my  eyes — <  a  feather  bed  is 
nothing  to  it,  Fitz.' 

"  '  I  believe  you  !'  he  said. 

"  The  morning  did  come,  and  we  had  splendid  shooting,  and 
happened  on  a  log  cabin  that  night,  where  we  were  permitted  to 
lodge,  leaving  most  of  our  game  for  its  mistress,  who .  refused 
money  for  her  hospitality.  By  three  o'clock  of  the  last  day,  we 
turned  our  faces  towards  home,  and  by  rare  luck,  overtook  a  man 
who  lived  upon  Fitz.'s  farm,  him  we  loaded  with  our  guns  and 
game-bags,  he  being  on  horseback,  and  fresh,  we  on  foot  and 
tired.  Presently  a  traveller  passed  us,  crossing  to  the  other 
side  of  the  road,  and  eyeing  us  suspiciously.  <  Fitz./  observed  I, 
1  How  hard  that  man  looked  at  you.  You  are  not  exactly  in 
holiday  trim,  my  dear  fellow  !' 

"  I  haven't  seen  any  man,  or  thought  of  myself,  I  was  too 
much  absorbed  in  conjecturing  how  such  an  ugly  creature  as  you, 
was  ever  raised — you  couldn't  have  been,  except  in  Easti m 
Virginia.' 

"After  some  sparring,  we  laid  a  bet  as  to  how  the  people  of 


ALONE.  87 

the  first  house  we  came  to,  would  decide  the  question  of  our  com- 
parative beauty,  <  I  have  it !'  said  he,  '  We  are  foreigners ;  talk 
the  most  villainous  jargon  you  can  invent,  and  trust  me  for  the 
rest.  We  shall  hear  criticisms  enough,  I'll  warrant.' 

"  We  were  ripe  for  fun;  and  reaching  a  small  farm-house,  Fitz. 
opened  the  gate.  <  Recollect  we  know  no  Inglese  !'  We  were 
grotesque  figures,  wearing  bell- crowned  hats  of  white  felt,  drab 
wrappers,  coated  with  mud,  and  green-hunting  shirts.  Add  a 
beard  of  three  days'  growth,  and  brigandish  mustachios,  and  you 
have  our  '  picters.'  The  men  were  off  at  work,  but  the  women 
peeped  at  us  from  all  quarters.  Fitz.  walked  meekly  up  to  a 
girl  who  was  washing  in  the  yard. 

"  (  Avezyouvuspaimum  ?' 

"  <  What !'  said  she,  wringing  the  suds  from  her  hands. 

"  (  Wevusivusfaimetsoif,'  winking  at  me  for  confirmation. 

"'Yaw!  pax  vobiscum!'  returned  I,  in  imitation  of  poor 
Wamba ;  and  pointing  into  my  throat. 

"  ( Two  forrinners,'  said  an  older  woman.  <  Come,  see  'em, 
chillen.' 

"  <  You  are  hungry,  ain't  you "?'  said  the  girl. 

" e  Novuscomprendum. 

11 '  And  thirsty,  too  ?'  to  me. 

"  I  put  my  finger  to  my  mouth,  with  a  voracious  snap.  Away 
she  ran,  and  was  back  in  a  minute,  with  a  plate  of  cold  Irish 
potatoes  and  a  bowl  of  buttermilk ;  a  younger  sister  following 
with  another." 

«  What  did  you  do  ?" 

«  I  drank  it !  absolutely  !  I,  who  had  never  looked  at  a  churn 
without  shuddering.  I  desired  to  make  a  favorable  impression. 
The  children  were  gaping  at  the  sights ;  and  I  contrived,  before 
handing  the  bowl  to  one  of  them,  to  drop  a  piece  of  money  into 
the  milk  left  in  the  bottom  <  for  manners.'  I  wished  it  back  in 
my  pocket,  as  the  old  hag,  after  a  prolonged  stare,  pointed  her 
skinny  hand  at  me,  <  Sary}  1  think  this  'ere  one  is  rayther  the 
wuss  looking,  don't  you  ? 

"  Fitz.  burst  into  a  laugh,  that  scared  them  all  in  one  direc- 
tion, while  we  beat  a  retreat  in  the  other." 

"A  hearty  laugh  helpeth  digestion,"  said  Dr.  Carleton,  setting 
back  in  his  chair.  "  Miss  Ida,  if  you  and  Charley  will  under- 


88  ALONE. 

take  my  practice,  I  ain  in  hopes  that  the  casualty  of  the  after- 
noon will  be  less  disastrous  than  we  apprehend/' 

"What  casualty?"  asked  Charley. 

The  doctor  explained. 

"  And  you  seize  upon  a  prime  lot  of  choice  spirits,  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  your  tinctures  and  drugs.  Fie,  Doctor !  I  thought 
you  were  a  temperance  man  I" 

"  I  have  the  best  right  to  your  services,"  said  Carry,  clasping 
her  hands  around  his  arm,  and  walking  with  him  towards  the 
parlor.  " And  I  forewarn  you,  I  have  enough  for  you  to  do. 
Ida  and  I  have  moped  here  for  a  fortnight,  without  a  single 
frolic,  and  with  an  alarmingly  scanty  supply  of  beaux." 

He  looked  down  at  her,  as  he  would  have  done  at  Elle. 

"  You  ride,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  There  is  a  pleasant  fiction  that  we  have  morning  excursions, 
daily;  but  history  records  but  three  such  felicitous  events." 

«  Where  was  Arthur  ?" 

"Hush,  my  dear  sir,  the  country  is  sickly;  and  "  she 

said,  sotto  voce,  "  He  will  not  hear  of  father's  going  out  after 
night-fall;  and  they  have  had  several  difficult  cases,  of  late, 
demanding  almost  constant  attendance." 

"  Then,  if  you  are  willing,  I  will  enter  upon  my  duties  as 
escort,  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Oh  !  not  so  soon !  you  may  have  time  to  recover  from  your 
fatigue." 

"  Fatigue !  fudge !  I  could  dance  all  night.  Are  you  fond  of 
riding,  Miss  Koss  ?" 

"  I  used  to  like  it ;  I  am  sadly  out  of  practice  now." 

"  A  fault  easily  cured,  if  you  are  not  timid." 

"  Not  she  1"  said  Carry;  "and  want  of  practice  notwithstand- 
ing, she  is  a  better  horsewoman  than  I." 

This  was  demonstrated  in  the  course  of  the  first  ride ;  and 
both  improved  rapidly  under  the  tuition  of  their  self-constituted 
instructor. 

John  returned  to  the  city;  Arthur's  time  was  never  at  his 
own  disposal ;  the  care  of  the  girls  devolved  entirely  upon  Char- 
ley. From  the  moment  of  his  arrival,  Ida  studied  him  intently, 
and  each  hour  brought  difficulties,  instead  of  elucidation.  Easy 
and  kind,  always  at  their  service;  and  performing  the  tasks 


ALONE.  89 

assigned  him,  as  if  they  were  real  pleasures,  he  was  nothing  of 
a  "  ladies'  man ;"  eschewed  gallant  speeches,  and  consigned  flat- 
terers to  the  tender  mercies  of  Mrs.  Opie.  She  felt  that  he  was 
affectionate,  but  would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  produce  proof 
thereof.  He  never  let  fall  a  syllable  of  endearment,  yet  Carry 
and  the  children  read  something  in  his  face  which  said  more. 
His  tastes  were  cultivated,  and  his  mind  well-informed,  but  he 
set  at  naught  the  laws  of  conversational  etiquette ;  his  sayings 
had  as  marked  a  style  as  his  features ;  a  style,  which  those  who 
did  not  know  better,  termed  "  droll,"  and  those  who  did,  dubbed 
"  Charley's ;"  it  was  referable  to  no  thing  or  person  else.  His 
candor  was  not  his  least  remarkable  trait.  He  was  obstinately 
silent  when  appealed  to  for  an  opinion,  or  gave  it  rough-hewn ; 
no  rounding-off  of  sharp  corners  j  no  filling  out  here,  or  sloping 
in  there,  so  as  to  fit  neatly  to  another's.  He  made  no  distinc- 
tions of  rank ;  pulled  off  his  hat  to  the  meanest  field-hand,  with 
as  gentle  courtesy  as  though  he  had  been  the  President;  and 
severed  the  thread  of  her  most  sprightly  narrations,  to  thank 
the  ragged  urchin,  who  unfastened  gates,  or  let  down  drawbars, 
in  their  desultory  excursions. 

"  He  is  one  of  the  best  of  men,"  delivered  Mammy,  as  fore- 
man of  the  kitchen  jury.  Ida  smiled  at  the  harum-scarum 
figure,  which  arose  in  her  mind,  in  opposition  to  the  image  of 
sanctity,  Mammy's  description  should  have  summoned. 

"  You  do  not  do  him  justice,  Ida,"  observed  Carry. 

"  My  smile  was  not  of  unbelief,  but  amusement ;  I  like  him. 
There  is  a  rich  vein  of  quaint  humor  in  his  mind ;  and  his  uneb- 
bing  spirits  entitle  him  to  the  honors  of  the  laughing  philosopher." 

«  He  is  more  than  that — " 

"Who  was  it  I  heard  wishing  for  a  frolic?"  asked  Charley, 
coming  in.  "  I  met  a  boy  with  a  basket  full  of  perfumery  and 
white  satin  ribbon,  at  the  gate.  I  had  to  stand  between  him 
and  the  wind,  while  he  gave  me  these.  '  Miss  Carleton' — <  Miss 
Ross' — '  Dr.  Dana  and  brother,'  they  would  swindle  a  fellow  out 
of  his  birth-right !  <  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Truman  solicit  the  pleasure 
— '  hum. — no  doubt  they  will  be  overjoyed — {  evening,  27th 
August' — what  is  it,  Carry?" 

"  We  were  talking  of  it  this  morning,  the  bridal  party  given 
to  William  Truman  and  lady." 

8* 


90  ALONE. 

"  Whom  did  be  marry?" 

"He  isn't  married  at  all;  on  the  26th;  he  is  to  conduct  to  the 
hymeneal  altar,  the  beautiful  Miss  Sophia  Morris,  of  Richmond, 
Virginia." 

"  No  newspaper  reporter  could  be  more  explicit.  You  will  go?" 

"  That  depends  upon  Miss  Ross'  inclinations,  and  somebody's 
gallantry." 

"  Poor  dependence — that  last !  Do  you  know  the  bride  elect 
— that  is  to  be  ?" 

"  The  bride  elect,  that  is — is  sister  to  a  school-mate  of  ours ; 
and  I  have  some  acquaintance  with  herself." 

"Ellen  will  be  with  her  sister,"  said  Ida.  "I  shall  enjoy 
meeting  her.  Her  laugh  will  carry  us  back  to  days  of  yore." 

"  To  days  of  yore,"  said  Charley,  balanceing  to  an  imaginary 
partner.  "  Is  it  three  or  four  weeks  since  you  parted  ?  In  a 
young  lady's  calendar,  a  month  is  an  age,  six  months  eternity. 
You  look  upon  me  as  a  miracle  of  longevity,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  As  old  enough  to  be  less  saucy,"  said  Carry.  "  Do  you 
know  that  this  habit  of  catching  up  one's  words  is  very  rude  ?" 

He  threw  a  quick  glance  to  Ida.  "  Miss  Ross  is  not  offended, 
I  trust.  Nothing  was  further  from  my  intention  than  to  wound 
or  offend.  I  am  too  prone  to  speak  without  thought.  Forgive 
me  this  time." 

"  Upon  two  conditions." 

"  Name  them." 

"  First,  that  you  never  again  imagine  an  apology  due,  when 
no  offence  has  been  committed;  secondly,  that  you  drop  that 
very  punctilious  '  Miss  Ros«,'  and  adopt  your  brother's  manner 
of  address." 

"  Agreed!  to  both.  If  I  presume  upon  my  privileges,  I  rely 
upon  you  for  admonition." 

"And  this  party?"  said  Carry.  "Sit  down  and  be  a  good 
boy,  while  Ida  and  I  talk  it  over." 

He  brought  up  a  stool  in  front  of  their  sofa,  and,  knees  at  a 
right  angle,  feet  close  together;  and  folded  hands,  waited  humbly 
for  the  crumbs  that  might  be  flung  to  him. 

"It  is  eight  miles  off,"  said  Carry,  "but  there  will  be  a 
moon — " 

("  Most  generally  is !") 


ALONE.  91 

"  Be  quiet,  sir !  it  will  be  moonlight,  and  the  road  is  level  and 
dry — " 

("  It  stops  at  the  creek  to  get  a  drink  !") 

She  aimed  a  blow  at  him  with  her  fan,  which  he  dodged. 

"  I  am  so  little  acquainted  with  them,"  objected  Ida. 

"  That's  nothing.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Truman  are  the  most 
hospitable  of  human  beings,  and  Mary  is  a  lovely  girl — " 

("  Per  latest  steamer  from  Paradise.") 

«  We  must  go.  Sister  is  here  to  keep  father  company.  Now 
the  last  query — what  shall  we  wear  ?" 

(«  The  first  shall  be  last.") 

"  White  muslins,"  returned  Ida. 

"  Yes ;  and  the  thinnest  we  have.  Nothing  else  is  endurable 
this  weather — " 

("  Except  iced  juleps  !") 

"  Arthur  I"  cried  Carry,  with  a  pretty  affectation  of  vexation. 
«  Come  in,  and  keep  your  brother  quiet  I" 

"What  is  he  doing?  he  seems  very  harmless,"  said  Dr.  Dana, 
stepping  through  the  window  from  the  piazza. 

The  maligned  individual  applied  his  fist  to  his  eye.  "  I  ain't 
a-touching  nothin  I" 

"  I  am  security  for  his  good  behaviour,"  continued  Arthur, 
laying  his  arm  across  his  shoulder.  "  Proceed  with  the  case  in 
hand." 

The  rival  merits  of  peach-blossoms  and  azure  were  set  forth ; 
bandeaux  preferred  to  curls — the  gentlemen  giving  the  casting 
vote; — kid  and  satin  slippers  paraded— Charley  advocating 
"  calf-skin  j" — a  muttering  of  "  patriotism"  and  "  domestic 
manufacture,"  checked  by  a  pinch  from  his  brother; — every 
knot  of  ribbon ; — each  bud  and  leaf  of  the  bouquets  were  settled 
to  the  taste  of  the  fair  wearers  before  the  council  adjourned. 


92  ALONE. 


CHAPTEK    IX. 

THE  most  spacious  of  Mrs.  Truman's  chambers  was  prepared 
for  the  ladies'  dressing-room,  on  the  evening  of  the  party ;  and 
there  were  no  spare  corners,  although  several  of  the  neighbours 
offered  their  houses  for  the  use  of  those  who  dared  not  tempt 
the  chance  of  crumpled  robes  and  disarranged  coiffures;  the 
probable  consequence  of  a  ride  eight  or  ten  miles  in  gala  dress. 
Every  stage  of  the  toilet  was  in  progress,  from  the  chrysalis  of 
the  dressing-gown  to  the  full-winged  butterfly,  the  sylph,  who, 
with  a  dainty  adjustment  of  her  diaphanous  drapery,  and  a  last, 
lingering  look  at  the  flattering  mirror,  declared  herself  "ready." 

Ida  and  Carry  were  bent  upon  dressing  alike ;  no  easy  matter 
jO  do,  consistently  with  their  perceptions  of  colours  and  fitness. 
3o  one  hue  became  both ;  so  they  proscribed  the  prismatic  tints 
tnd  appeared  in  virgin  white.  Carry  was  beautiful  as  a  dream 
of  Fairy  Land.  The  plump,  white  arms  were  bare  to  the 
shoulder,  and  without  other  ornament  than  their  own  fairness, 
except  a  chain  of  gold,  attached  to  a  locket,  containing  her 
parents'  hair.  This  she  never  left  off.  Snowy  gloves  hid  hands, 
softer  still ;  the  exquisitely-fitted  corsage,  and  the  waist  it  en- 
clasped, were  the  admiration,  and,  if  truth  must  be  told,  the  envy 
of  the  bevy  of  talkative  damsels  j  but  few  remarked  upon  these 
after  a  sight  of  her  face.  Her  hair  would  curl,  do  what  she 
would ;  the  rebellious  bandeaux  refused  to  be  plastered  upon  the 
blue- veined  temples,  but  rippled  and  glittered,  like  nothing  but 
a  stream,  golden  in  the  sunset.  The  most  artful  smipgon  of 
rouge  was  a  palpable  counterfeit  compared  with  her  living 
bloom ;  pearls  lay  between  the  ruby  lips ;  and  a  spirit,  more 
priceless  then  gold  or  rubies,  or  pearls  beamed  from  the  liquid 
eyes.  Ida  looked  forward  with  delight  to  Arthur's  exultant 
smile,  when  he  should  behold  her ;  and  Carry,  alike  forgetful  of 
self,  was  lost  in  gratified  contemplation  of  the  elegant  figure  of 
her  friend.  "With  not  a  tithe  of  the  beauty  of  half  the  girls 
present,  her  tout  ensemble  was  striking  and  attractive.  The 
haughtiness  which  held  the  crowd  at  a  distance,  gave  a  high-bred 


ALONE.  93 

tone  to  her  bearing,  and  one  sentence,  uttered  in  her  clear  voice, 
and  a  smile  dispelled  all  unfavourable  impressions. 

Arthur  and  Charley  were  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  What  a  Babel  I"  said  Ida,  as  they  entered  the  thronged 
rooms. 

"  And  what  a  waste  of  breath  !"  replied  Charley.  "  There  is 
neither  sociability,  or  rational  enjoyment,  to  be  had  in  these 
very  large  assemblies." 

"  I  rather  like  the  excitement  of  the  crowd  ;"  said  Ida,  "  it 
affects  me  strangely,  but  agreeably ;  with  the  same  sensation  the 
waves  may  feel  in  their  sports, — a  tumultuous  glee  at  being  a 
part  of  the  restless  whole, — never  still,  and  always  bounding 
onward/' 

"  How  do  you  account  for  it  ?  Is  it  magnetism — animal 
electricity  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so.  If,  as  some  contend,  we  are  electrical  machines, 
the  revolving  currents  of  the  subtle  fluid  must  operate  powerfully 
upon  the  system  of  each,  in  a  crowd  like  this.  But  to  leave 
speculative  ground — perilous  to  me,  inasmuch  as  I  do  not  know 
what  I  am  talking  about — " 

"And  I  understand  the  science  less,"  interrupted  he.  "  You 
remember  the  Scotchman's  definition  of  metaphysics — what  were 
you  going  to  ask  ?" 

"  Why  you  dislike  these  scenes  ?  I  fancied  you  would  be  in 
your  element." 

"  Excuse  me  for  saying  that  I  suspect  you  class  me  among 
amphibious  creatures — a  sui  generis — equally  at  home  in  the  air, 
earth,  and  water,  and  not  over-well  qualified  for  any  of  these 
states  of  existence." 

Ida  would  have  disclaimed ;  but  he  had  come  too  near  the 
mark ;  the  eyes  that  asked  a  reply  were  penetrating  as  laughing  j 
she  was  thankful  that  the  bridal  party  released  her  from  their 
regards. 

"  The  bride  is  pretty,"  he  observed,  when  the  confusion  was  a 
little  over. 

"Tame  praise  for  such  beauty,"  said  Ida. 

"  What  then  ?  superb — magnificent  ?  and  if  I  wish  to  describe 
the  Alps  or  Niagara,  can  you  help  me  to  a  word  ?" 

«  You  do  not  affect  the  florid  style  now  in  vogue?" 


94  ALONE. 

"No.  It  is  the  vice  of  American  language  and  literature. 
We  '  pile  on  the  agony/  until  the  idea  is  smothered  ;  plain  words 
lose  their  meaning,  become  too  weak  to  go  alone,  and  have  to 
be  bolstered  up  by  sonorous  adjectives." 

Ida  smiled,  and  turned  her  head  to  look  for  Ellen  Morris. 
Charley  remarked  the  movement,  and  imitated  it. 

"  Ha  !  can  it  be  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  What !"  she  questioned. 

"  I  cannot  be  mistaken  !  it  is  he  !  What  wind  has  blown  him 
hither  ?  An  old — I  thought,  a  transatlantic  friend  ;  the  gentle- 
man with  the  moustache,  conversing  with  one  of  the  bridesmaids." 

"  Ellen  Morris  !  I  see  him ;  but  he  deserves  more  than  the 
doubtful  designation  of  the  'gentleman  with  the  moustache.' 
Who,  and  what  is  he  ?" 

"  An  artist  and  poet,  just  returned  from  Italy,  and  the  hero  of 
divers  adventures,  which,  as  you  love  the  romantic,  I  may  relate 
to  you  in  my  poor  way  some  day.  His  cognomen  is  Lynn 
Holmes." 

"  He  looks  the  poet ;  how  handsome  I" 

"  <  Tame  praise  for  such  beauty/  "  quoted  Charley,  with  mock 
gravity. 

It  was,  when  applied  to  the  face  and  form  before  them.  He 
was  not  above  the  medium  height ;  symmetrically  proportioned, 
hair  purplish  in  its  blackness,  the  arched  nostril,  and  short  upper 
lip  indicative  of  spirit  and  gentle  birth,  and  the  rich,  warm  com- 
plexion had  caught  its  flush  from  Italian  suns.  Its  rapid  fluctua- 
tions, plainly  visible  through  the  transparent  olive  of  his  cheek, 
spoke  too,  of  passions  kindled  by  that  burning  clime.  But  his 
eyes  !  Ida's  were  darker,  as  she  gazed  into  their  midnight — 
large  and  dreamy  and  melancholy  !  a  world  of  unwritten  poetry  ; 
but  when  did  poet  have,  or  artist  paint  such ! 

"  What  is  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  ?"  asked  Charley, 
patiently. 

"  That  you  should  speak  to  your  friend ;"  letting  go  his  arm. 
"I  shall  not  mind  your  leaving  me  alone." 

He  replaced  her  hand.  "  Content  yourself.  Miss  Morris 
will  not  thank  me,  if  I  intrude  at  present.  There  is  time  enough. 
Pity  he  has  chosen  a  starving  profession." 

"And  why  'pity/  if  in  so  doing  he  has  followed  the  beckon- 


ALONE.  95 

ing  of  genius  ?  He  has  hearkened  to,  and  obeyed  the  teachings 
of  his  higher  nature.  Can  they  mislead  ?" 

"  When  we  mistake  their  meaning.  Genius  steers  wildly 
astray  if  the  compass-box  of  judgment  is  wanting.  My  remark 
was  a  general  one" — seeing  her  grave  look.  "  Holmes  is  one  of 
the  gifted  of  the  earth  ;  and  when  I  lamented  his  choice  of  a  pro- 
fession, I  did  not  censure  him,  but  the  public.  He  ought  to 
have  a  nabob's  fortune  to  perfect  his  schemes ;  and  he  will  not 
make  a  living.  Men  squander  thousands  for  the  intellectual 
gratification  of  a  horse-race  ;  an  exhibition  in  which,  I  allow,  the 
brute  is  generally  the  nobler  animal; — and  knowingly  brand 
him  '  a  verdant  'un,'  who  expends  a  quarter  of  that  sum  in  works 
of  art.  "Will  you  dance  ?  I  hear  a  violin." 

"  I  think  not.     It  is  too  warm." 

"  To  say  nothing  of  the  crowd.  In  dancing,  as  in  most  things, 
I  prefer  standing  upon  my  own  footing — not  upon  other  people's 
toes." 

Nevertheless,  there  were  those  present  who  could  not  withstand 
the  allurement  of  a  "hop,"  under  any  circumstances;  and  by 
snug  packing  on  the  part  of  the  soberly-inclined,  while  numbers 
sought  the  freer  air  of  the  passages  and  piazzas,  room  was  made 
for  a  set.  Ellen  Morris  joined  it,  and  Mr.  Holmes  had  time  to 
look  about  him.  His  start  of  delight  as  he  recognised  Charley, 
and  the  heartiness  of  their  greetings,  showed  their  mutual  attach- 
ment ;  and  imagining  that  they  would  have  much  to  say  after  a 
lengthy  separation,  Ida  would  have  fallen  in  the  rear,  had  not 
Charley  forestalled  her  by  a  prompt  presentation  of  his  friend. 
They  exchanged,  indeed,  one  or  two  brief  questions  and  replies ; 
but  these  over,  she  was  the  centre  of  attraction.  The  panting, 
heated  dancers  tripped  by,  commiserating,  if  they  noticed  the 
"hum-drum"  group  at  the  window  ;  never  thinking  that,  demure 
as  they  appeared,  there  was  more  enjoyment  in  that  secluded 
recess,  than  in  the  entire  mass  of  revellers  besides.  There  are 
harmonies  in  conversation,  the  arrangement  of  which  is  wofully 
disregarded.  Accident  had  collected  a  rare  trio.  The  artist 
talked  as  he  would  have  painted  ;  descrying  beauties  everywhere, 
and  bringing  them  together  with  a  masterly  hand;  only  tolerating 
deformity,  as  it  displayed  them  to  more  advantage,  and  shedding 
over  all  the  mellow  glow  of  his  fervid  imagination  ;  startling  by 


96  ALONE 

paradoxes,  to  enchant  by  the  grace  and  beauty  of  their  reconcilia- 
tion. And  Charley,  with  a  cooler  brain  and  wary  eye,  was 
ready  to  temper,  not  damp  his  enthusiasm ; — not  to  dam  the 
rushing  flood,  but  lead  it  aside  into  a  smoother  channel.  Ida 
thought  of  the  compass-box,  and  charmed  as  she  was  by  the 
eloquence  of  this  modern  Raphael,  acknowledged  the  justice  of 
the  simile.  For  herself,  appreciative  and  suggestive,  she  fanned 
the  flame.  Her  sympathetic  glance  and  smile,  the  quick  catching 
at  a  thought,  half  unuttered ;  the  finish  and  polish  his  crude 
ideas  received  from  her  lighter  hand,  could  not  but  please  and 
flatter.  How  grating  was  the  interruption  ! — 

"  Mr.  Dana !  not  dancing  I" 

"  No,  Mr.  Truman,  but  exceedingly  well  entertained." 

"  Hav'nt  a  doubt  of  it !  hav'nt  a  doubt !  but  there's  a  young 
lady — a  stranger — who  wants  a  partner  for  the  set  that  is  form- 
ing, and  as  your  brother  is  engaged — to  dance,  I  mean — with 
Miss  Somebody — I  forget  who — I  thought  as  an  old  friend,  I 
would  make  so  free  as  to  call  upon  you,  ah — ah — she  being  a 
stranger,  you  understand,  ah — ah — 

"  Certainly  sir,  of  course,  where  is  she  ?"  said  Charley,  swal- 
lowing his  chagrin,  in  his  willingness  to  oblige  the  embarrassed 
host.  "  Charles  Dana,  {  having  gone  to  see  his  partner,  desires 
the  prayers  of  the  congregation,"  he  said  aside  to  his  compa- 
nions, before  plunging  into  the  throng. 

"  '  0,  rare  Ben  Jonson !'  "  said  Mr.  Holmes,  as  they  disap- 
peared. 

"  And  most  incomprehensible  of  anomalies !"  responded  Ida. 

"  The  dross  is  upon  the  surface — refined  gold  beneath.  Have 
you  known  him  long  ?" 

"  But  a  fortnight." 

"  You  have  not  mastered  the  alphabet  yet.  Bright  and  danc- 
ing as  is  that  eye,  I  have  seen  it  shed  tears  in  abundance  and 
softness,  like  a  woman's.  His  tongue  knows  other  language  than 
that  of  flippant  trifling." 

"  He  is  a  universal  favorite.  I  am  surprised  he  has  never 
married." 

Mr.  Holmes  was  silent.  He  even  looked  pained;  and  Ida, 
conscious  that  she  had  unwittingly  touched  a  sore  spot,  took  up 
the  strain  Mr.  Truman  had  broken.  She  was  in  the  Coliseum 


ALONE.  97 

of  Rome;  when  among  the  moving  sea  of  faces  precipitated  upon 
the  retina,  yet  nothing  to  the  brain,  unless,  perhaps,  making 
more  vivid  its  conceptions  of  the  multitude,  who  once  lined  the 
crumbling  walls  of  the  amphitheatre — one  arrested  her  atten- 
tion. The  subject  was  thrilling;  the  speaker's  description  gra- 
phic and  earnest; — it  was  unkind,  and  ungrateful,  and  disre- 
spectful— but  laugh  she  must,  and  did,  when  in  Charley's 
partner  she  beheld  Celestia  Pratt!  Her  first  emotion  was 
extreme  amusement;  her  next,  indignant  compassion  for  him 
thrust  into  public  notice  as  the  cavalier  of  a  tawdry  fright ;  for 
the  thickest  of  satin  robes,  and  a  load  of  jewelry,  that  gave  plau- 
sibility to  the  tale  of  Hannibal's  spoils  at  Cannae,  betrayed, 
instead  of  cloaking  vulgarity.  He  was  playing  the  agreeable, 
however,  with  his  wonted  sang-froid,  varied,  as  she  judged  from 
his  gestures,  by  gratuitous  hints  as  to  the  figure  and  step.  In 
trying  to  efface  the  remembrance  of  her  rudeness  from  Mr. 
Holmes'  mind,  and  watching  the  oddly  matched  pair,  she  passed 
the  time  until  the  set  was  finished.  Arthur  approached,  and  the 
gleam  of  his  white  teeth  upset  her  acquired  gravity. 

"  Caught,"  said  he,  as  Mr.  Holmes  walked  away,  "just  as  I 
was.  I  secured  a  partner  directly  I  saw  her ;  and  Mr.  Truman, 
hearing  from  her  that  I  was  an  acquaintance,  put  at  me  two 
minutes  later." 

«  He  said  you  were  engaged — to  dance." 

"  Here  he  is  !     Charley,  I  thought  you  declined  dancing." 

"  So  I  did.     I  consented  to  please  Mr.  Truman." 

"  Had  you  ever  seen  your  partner  before  ?" 

"  No.  I  know  what  you  are  at,  Art.,  but  I  cannot  laugh  with 
you.  I  am  sorry  for  her." 

'"  You  shame  us,  Mr.  Dana,"  said  Ida,  frankly.  '  "  I  will 
make  amends  for  my  uncharitableness,  by  fighting  my  way,  sin- 
gle-handed, to  the  farthest  end  of  the  room,  to  speak  to  her,  if 
you  say  so." 

"  And  I,  not  to  be  outdone,  will  dance  with  her,"  said  Arthur, 
with  a  martyr-air. 

"  I  absolve  you,"  said  his  brother.  «  She  is  a  queer  fish,  I 
own,"  in  his  light  tone.  "  Have  you  spoken  to  Holmes  ?" 

"  Yes.  He  says  he  has  partly  resolved  to  winter  in  Rich- 
mond. He  is  a  groomsman ;  but  the  party  disband  to-morrow ; 
9 


98  ALONE. 

only  Miss  Morris  attending  the  young  couple  to  their  home  up 
the  country.  I  have  invited  Lynn  to  epend  some  time  with  us, 
before  he  settles  to  business." 

«  Will  he  come  ?" 

«  Probably." 

A  succession  of  introductions  and  beaux  engaged  Ida  until 
supper.  She  forgot  her  purpose  of  speaking  with  Celestia,  and 
would  not  have  remembered  her  again  that  evening,  had  she  not 
been  made  aware  of  her  proximity  at  table  by  something  between 
a  grunt  and  exclamation,  forced  through  a  mouthful  of  cake. 

"  Lor !  if  that  ain't  Idy  Koss !" 

She  had  a  saucer  of  ice-cream  in  one  hand,  and  a  slice  of  fruit- 
cake in  her  left ;  so  she  stuck  out  a  red  elbow  in  lieu  of  either ; 
which  unique  salutation  Ida  pretended  not  to  see. 

'How  are  you,  Celestia?  When  did  you  come  into  the 
neighbourhood  ?" 

"  I  jest  got  down  yesterday.  You  see,"  in  a  stage  whisper, 
"  I  heard  of  this  party  better'n  a  fortnight  ago,  and  ma  and  I 
set  our  hearts  'pon  my  coming ;  so  I  had  this  dress  made  (it 
cost  four  dollars  a  yard !)  and  happened,  you  know,  to  pay  a 
visit  to  Cousin  Lucindy  Martin's,  jest  in  the  nick  of  time,  and 
Mrs.  Truman,  found  out,  you  know,  that  I  was  there,  and  sent 
me  a 'bid.'  Didn't  I  manage  it  nice?" 

"  You  appear  to  be  having  a  pleasant  time." 

"  0,  splendid !  I've  danced  every  set.  Thar's  a  heap  of  polite 
beaux — ain't  there  ?" 

"  Miss  Koss,  what  shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  helping  you 
to  ?"  asked  Mr.  Euston,  Ida's  escort. 

"She  named  an  article,  and  Celestia  twitched  her  arm — 
«  Who's  that  ?" 

«  Mr.  Euston,"  said  Ida,  distinctly. 

"Is  he  your  beau? 

"No." 

«  Then  you'd  as  lief  as  not  interduce  me,  hadn't  you?  He's 
the  loveliest  thing  I  ever  saw." 

Ida  flushed  with  disgust  and  vexation ;  the  insufferable  con- 
ceit of  the  girl,  her  bizarre  appearance,  and  harsh  tones  drew  the 
notice  of  many  to  them ;  and  her  horror  of  ridicule  was  strong 
upon  her. 


ALONE.  99 

"  Miss  Ida,"  said  Charles  Dana,  across  the  table.  "  Will  you 
cat  a  philopoena  with  me?"  As  he  tossed  the  almond,  she 
marked  his  expression,  and  the  scene  in  the  painting-room,  Jose- 
phine's derision,  and  the  rude  mirth  of  her  supporters,  her  hur- 
ricane of  rage  and  the  commanding  look  that  said  to  it  "  Be 
still,"  all  rushed  over  her  like  a  whirlwind,  and  departed  sud- 
denly. Mr.  Euston  was  bowing  with  the  desired  delicacy; 
Celcstia,  serenely  expectant,  and  with  the  mien  of  one  who  con- 
fers a  favour  upon  both  parties,  she  complied  with  the  fair  lady's 
request.  Mr.  Euston  was  handsome  and  gallant;  he  immedi- 
ately dipped  into  his  stock  of  pretty  sayings,  and  presented  one 
of  the  most  elegant.  The  recipient  fluttered  and  prinked,  and 
baited  another  hook;  and  Ida  stole  a  look  at  Charley.  Her  not 
recognizing  him  before  was  no  marvel ;  she  could  hardly  per- 
suade herself  that  her  conviction  of  a  minute  before  was  not  an 
illusion;  so  impervious  was  the  Momus  mask.  He  was  fre- 
quently near,  and  with  her,  in  the  course  of  the  evening :  but 
no  sign  betokened  a  suspicion  of  her  perplexity.  He  was  gayer 
than  his  wont ;  when  sheer  fatigue  drove  the  votaries  of  pleasure 
from  the  festive  hall,  his  spirits  were  at  their  meridian.  He  had 
passed  most  of  the  day  on  horseback ;  had  talked  and  danced  and 
stood  for  six  hours;  yet  he  sent  off  carriage  after  carriage  with  a 
lively  adieu ;  and  seeing  his  own  party  seated  in  theirs,  vaulted 
into  the  saddle,  as  for  a  morning  gallop.  He  cheered  the  weary 
travellers  so  long  as  he  could  extort  replies  from  the  lagging 
tongues,  and  serenaded  them  the  rest  of  the  way  with  snatches 
of  melody  fantastic  as  his  mood. 

"  Why  have  you  and  Charley  preserved  such  a  mysterious 
silence  respecting  our  former  meeting?"  inquired  Ida,  when  she 
and  Carry  were  laid  down  to  sleep. 

"  He  charged  me  not  to  name  him,  if  I  heard  the  matter 
alluded  to;  and,  since  we  have  been  at  home,  enjoined  secrecy 
more  strictly,  saying  the  incident  was  better  forgotten  than 
remembered,"  said  Carry,  dozingly. 

This  was  Thursday.  On  Saturday  the  young  artist  made  one 
in  their  midst.  In  his  school-days  he  was  a  welcome  guest  at 
Poplar-grove,  spending  a  portion  of  his  vacation  with  his  friend 
Charley,  and  the  lapse  of  years  had  not  rusted  the  hinges  of 


100  ALONE. 

the  hospitable  doors,  or  those  of  the  master's  heart.  He  was 
received  and  cherished  as  of  old. 

Mrs.  Dana  looked  into  the  girls'  room  before  retiring.  Ida 
was  brushing  her  hair;  Carry  watching  and  talking  to  her. 
«  Yes,"  said  she,  complacently,  appealing  to  her  sister  for  con- 
firmation. "  I  flatter  myself  our  party  could  not  be  more  select 
or  composed  of  choicer  materials.  Four  beaux — including  father 
— handsomest  of  all;  and  but  two  belles — three — pardon  me, 
Mrs.  Dana.  It  may  be  a  century  ere  we  are  again  so  blessed ; 
and  we  must  go  somewhere,  or  do  something  to  exhibit  our- 
selves. Ida  may  have  Charley  and  father,  if  she  will  leave  the 
Italian  and  his  lamping  eyes  to  me." 

"And  Arthur — why  is  he  neglected  the  division  of  spoils?" 
asked  Mrs.  Dana. 

"  I  make  him  over  to  you.  Brother  John  commended  you  to 
his  care." 

"  Mammy  applied  to  me  for  numberless  passes,  to-night. 
There  is  a  big  meeting  at  Rocky  Mount.  The  servants  will 
attend  en  masse,  to-morrow;  why  not  follow  their  example?" 
said  Mrs.  Dana,  with  playful  irony. 

"  We  will !"  exclaimed  Carry,  clapping  her  hands.  "  I'll 
ask  father  this  minute." 

"  But,  my  dear  sister — " 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  Jenny;  Ida  would  like  to  go,  I  am  sure." 

"When  I  understand  the  character  of  the  entertainment;  I 
shall  be  qualified  to  express  my  wishes." 

"  Why,"  answered  Carry,  tying  the  cord  of  the  wrapper  she 
had  cast  around  her.  "They  preach  a  little,  and  sing  and 
shout;  and  in  intermission,  we  have  grand  fun." 

«  Fun !  at  church !" 

"  That  is  not  the  word  precisely;  but  everybody  meets  every- 
body else,  and  we  have  an  hour  for  talking  and  eating.  How 
happens  it,  that  you  are  a  novice  ?  you  are  country-born." 

"  I  was  never  at  a  big  meeting,  notwithstanding." 

"  An  additional  reason,  why  we  should  be  on  the  spot  to- 
morrow. I  will  be  back  directly." 

In  five  minutes  she  returned,  blushing  and  laughing. 

"  Would  you  believe  it?  When  I  knocked  at  father's  door, 
Arthur  opened  it.  I  slunk  back  in  the  dark,  and  asked  for 


ALONE.  101 

<  Marster.'  '  Doctor/  said  he,  <  Martha  wants  to  see  you,'  and 
sauntered  off.  Didn't  father  stare,  and  I  laugh,  when  I  ran  in ! 
The  stupid  creature  !  to  be  fooled  so  easily  I" 

"  The  meeting !"  said  Ida. 

"  All's  well !  Father  was  afraid  we  might  be  tired,  if  we 
stayed  to  both  sermons ;  but  I  assured  him  that  was  impossible. 
I  hope  it  will  be  a  fine  day !" 

She  was  gratified ;  but  the  weather  was  not  brighter  than  the 
faces  gathered  upon  the  piazza,  at  a  shockingly  unfashionable 
hour.  It  was  six  miles  to  Rocky  Mount;  and  as  Charley 
observed,  "  seats  in  the  dress  circle  would  be  at  a  premium,  two 
hours  before  services  begun." 

"  'Marster'  does  not  accompany  us,"  said  Arthur,  significantly, 
as  he  handed  Carry  into  the  carriage.  She  was  too  much  con- 
fused to  reply;  but  Ida  and  Mrs.  Dana  laughed  outright. 

"  Papa  and  myself,  having  no  vagrant  propensities,  will  go  to 
our  own  church,"  anwered  the  latter.  "  And  if  you  have  waited 
upon  the  young  ladies,  I  will  thank  you  to  put  me  into  the  gig, 
Dr.  Dana." 

Mr.  Holmes  accepted  a  seat  with  the  ladies ;  Charley  and 
Arthur  were  on  horseback.  It  is  doubtful  if  one  of  the  merry 
riders  realised,  for  an  instant,  the  sacredness  of  the  day,  or  that 
they  were  bound  to  a  place  of  worship.  It  did  not  occur,  even 
to  Dr.  Carleton,  that  their  glee,  innocent  and  proper  upon  ordi- 
nary occasions,  now  verged  upon  sinful  levity.  He  saw  in  it, 
the  buoyancy  of  youth  under  the  influence  of  agreeable  company, 
and  a  cloudless  day.  They  would  be  subdued  by  the  exercises 
of* the  sanctuary;  and  he  drove  .along,  his  large  heart  full  of 
love  and  praise  to  Him  who  had  showered  these  gem-sparkles 
into  his  chalice  of  life ;  the  young  people  beguiling  the  length 
of  their  journey,  by  a  running  fire  of  badinage,  puns  and  serio- 
comic discussions;  embarked,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  upon 
a  party  of  pleasure. 

"  Behold  Rocky  Mount !"  said  Arthur,  pointing  to  a  rising 
ground,  tufted  by  a  clump  of  oaks. 

"  "Where  is  the  church  ?"  inquired  Ida.  « I  can  distinguish 
people  and  horses,  but  no  house." 

"After  we  get  there,  I  will  lend  you  my  pocket  microscope/'' 
responded  Charley.  The  brown  walls  of  a  small  building,  in 
9* 


102  ALONE. 

the  centre  of  the  grove,  were  visible,  as  the  road  wound  around 

the  hill ;  but  its  dimensions  were  as  great  a  puzzle  as  its  absence 

would  have  been.     Carry  came  to  her  aid. 
"  They  preach  out  of  doors,  my  dear." 
"  Out  of  doors  I"  this  was  a  charming  novelty. 
"  '  The  groves  were  God's  first  temples,'  "  she  repeated  softly, 

and  Lynn  continued  the  noble  lines — 

"Ah,  why 

Should  we,  in  the  world's  riper  years,  neglect 
God's  ancient  sanctuaries,  and  adore, 
Only  among  the  crowd,  and  under  roofs 
That  our  frail  hands  have  raised  ?" 

Charley  smiled  dubiously,  but  held  his  peace.  The  crowd 
thickened  with  their  advance.  Horses  were  tethered  in  solid 
ranks  to  the  trees ;  children  straying  frightfully  near  to  their 
heels;  wagons  and  carriages  almost  piled  upon  each  other;  and 
men,  white  and  black,  stood  about  everywhere.  The  driver 
reined  up,  twenty  yards  from  the  arbor  erected  under  the  trees. 

"  Drive  up  nearer,  Tom  I"  said  Carry. 

"  He  cannot,"  replied  Arthur,  letting  down  the  steps. 
«  Look  I" 

There  was  a  quadruple  row  of  vehicles  on  three  sides  of  the 
arbor,  the  fourth  being,  at  considerable  pains,  left  open  for 
passage.  Several  young  men  dashed  to  the  side  of  the  carriage, 
with  as  much  empressment  as  at  a  ball,  and  thus  numerously 
attended,  the  girls  picked  their  way  through  the  throng  and 
dust.  No  gentlemen  were,  as  yet,  in  their  seats,  and  our  party 
secured  a  vacant  bench  midway  to  the  pulpit. 

"  Don't  sit  next  to  the  aisle,"  whispered  Arthur. 

"  Why  not  ?"  questioned  Ida,  removing  to  the  other  extremity 
of  the  plank. 

"  Oh !  it  is  more  comfortable  here.  We  will  be  with  you 
again  presently." 

"  That  is  not  all  the  reason,"  remarked  Carry,  when  he  was 
gone.  "  This  railing  protects  us  from  the  press  on  this  side ; 
and  our  young  gentleman  will  not  permit  any  one  to  occupy  the 
stand  without,  but  themselves." 

«  Will  they  not  sit  down?" 

«  No,  indeed !  there  will  not  be  room.     Then  the  aisles  will 


ALONE.  103 

be  filled  with  all  sorts  of  people,  and  our  dresses  be  liable  ta 
damage  from  boots  and  tobacco  juice." 

"  Tobacco  juice  I"  was  she  in  a  barbarous  country !  As  Carry 
predicted,  their  -three  attendants  worked  their  way,  between  the 
wheels  and  the  people,  to  where  they  sat.  Charley  crawled 
under  the  rail,  and  planted  himself  behind  them. 

"  I  can  keep  my  position  until  some  pretty  girl  dislodges  me," 
said  he.  «  The  denizens  of  these  parts  have  not  forgotten  how 
to  stare." 

He  might  well  say  so  A  battery  of  eyes  was  levelled  upon 
them,  wherever  they  looked.  The  tasteful  dress  and  elegant 
appearance  of  the  ladies,  and  their  attractive  suite,  were  subjects 
of  special  importance  to  the  community  at  large.  Although 
eclipsed  in  show  by  some  present,  theirs  was  a  new  constellation, 
and  they  must  support  observation  as  they  could.  They  stood 
fire  bravely;  Ida  was  most  unacccustomed  to  it,  and  she  found 
so  much  to  interest  and  divert  her,  that  she  became  unconscious 
of  the  annoyance  after  a  little. 

"  Are  those  seats  reserved  for  distinguished  strangers  ?  have 
not  we  a  right  to  them?"  designating  a  tier  in  front  of  the 
speaker's  stand. 

"  They  are  the  anxious  benches,"  returned  Charley. 

«  Nonsense  1" 

"  So  I  think.  The  brethren  dissent  from  us.  I  am  not 
quizzing.  That  is  the  name." 

"  The  mourners — the  convicted  occupy  them,"  said  Carry. 

"  Are  they  here  ?"  inquired  Ida,  credulously.  It  was  prepos- 
terous to  conceive  such  a  possibility  in  this  frivolous  loud-talking 


"  Not  now;"  answered  Charley.  «  But  when  they  crowd  on 
the  steam,  you  will  witness  scores." 

"  Fie  !  Charley?  it  is  wicked  to  speak  so !" 

"I  am  just  as  pious  as  if  I  did  not,  Carry.  I'll  wager  my 
horse — and  head  too — that  by  to-night,  Miss  Ida  will  agree  with 
me,  that  these  religious  frolics  are  more  hurtful  to  the  cause  they 
are  intended  to  advance,  than  fifty  such  harmless  affairs,  as  we 
attended  on  Thursday  night." 

«  I  am  not  solemnised  yet;"  said  Ida. 

"  You  are  as  solemn  as  you  are  going  to  be.     You  may  be 


104  ALONE. 

excited,  or  frightened  into  something  like  gravity.  Two,  three, 
four  preachers  !  That's  what  I  call  a  waste  of  the  raw  material. 
What  a  flutter  of  ribbons  and  fans !  The  congregation  reminds 
me  of  a  clover  field,  with  the  butterflies  hovering  over  its  gaily- 
colored,  bobbing  heads.  Handsome  ladies  by  dozens !  This 
county  is  famed  for  its  beauty,  and  but  one  tolerable-looking 
man  in  its  length  and  breadth  I" 

"  Why,  there  is  Mr,  Euston — what  fault  have  you  to  find  in 
him  ?" 

"  He  is  the  honorable  exception.  Whom  did  you  think  I 
meant?"  smiling  mischievously  at  Carry's  unguarded  query. 
"Art.  here,  is  passable.  Modesty  prevents  my  saying  more,  as 
we  are  daily  mistaken  for  each  other.  The  music  strikes  up; — 
rather  quavering  ;  they  are  not  in  the  '  spirit'  yet.  They  never 
get  to  the  <  understanding.'  I  must  decamp.  Those  fair  ones 
are  too  bashful  to  look  this  way,  while  I  am  here." 

He  was  on  the  outside  of  the  rail,  sedate  and  deacon-like,  in 
a  minute.  Unsuited  as  his  remarks  were  to  the  time  and  place, 
they  were  less  objectionable  than  the  whispers  of  the  ladies  who 
dispossessed  him; — critiques  upon  Susan's  beaux  and  Joseph's 
sweethearts ;  upon  faces,  dress  and  deportment ;  a  quantity  of 
reprobation,  and  very  sparse  praises. 

The  preacher  was  an  unremarkable  man,  who  delivered,  in  a 
sing-song  tone,  an  unremarkable  discourse ;  opposing  no  impedi- 
ment to  the  sociability  of  the  aforementioned  damsels,  except 
that  they  lowered  their  shrill  staccato  to  a  piano.  The  gentle- 
men whispered  behind  their  hats,  notched  switches,  and  whittled 
sticks.  The  hearers  from  Poplar-grove,  albeit  they  were  gay, 
youthful,  and  non-professors,  were  the  most  decorous  auditors  in 
their  part  of  the  congregation.  Another  minister  arose ;  a  man 
not  yet  in  his  thirtieth  year,  his  form  stooped,  as  beneath  the 
weight  of  sixty  winters.  The  crowd  stilled  instantly.  He 
leaned,  as  for  support,  upon  the  primitive  desk ;  his  attenuated 
hands  clasped,  his  eyes  moving  slowly  in  their  cavernous 
recesses,  over  the  vast  assemblage.  "And  what  come  ye  out 
into  the  wilderness  for  to  see?"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  preter- 
natural sweetness  and  strength.  "Aye!  ye  arc  come  as  to  a 
holiday  pageant,  bedecked  in  tinsel  and  costly  raiment.  I  see 
before  me  the  pride  of  beauty  and  youth ;  the  middle-aged,  in 


ALONE.  105 

the  strength  of  manliness  and  honor,  the  hoary  hairs  and  decrepid 
limbs  of  age ; — all  trampling — hustling  each  other  in  your  haste 
— in  one  beaten  road — the  way  to  death  and  judgment !  Oh ! 
fools  and  blind  !  slow-worms,  battening  upon  the  damps  and  filth 
of  this  vile  earth  !  hugging  your  muck  rakes  while  the  glorious 
One  proffers  you  the  crown  of  Life  1"  The  bent  figure  straight- 
ened ;  the  thin  hands  were  endowed  with  a  language  of  power, 
as  they  pointed,  and  shook,  and  glanced  through  the  air.  His 
clarion  tones  thrilled  upon  every  ear,  their  alarms  and  threaten- 
ings  and  denunciations;  in  crashing  peals,  the  awful  names  of 
the  Most  High,  and  His  condemnations  of  the  wicked,  descended 
among  the  throng;  and  those  fearful  eyes  were  fiery  and  wrath- 
ful. At  the  climax  he  stopped ; — with  arms  still  upraised,  and 
the  words  of  woe  and  doom  yet  upon  his  lips,  he  sank  upon  the 
arm  of  a  brother  beside  him,  and  was  led  to  his  seat,  ghastly  as 
a  corpse,  and  nearly  as  helpless. 
A  female  voice  began  a  hymn. 

"This  is  the  field,  the  world  below, — 
Where  wheat  and  tares  together  grow; 
Jesus,  ere  long  will  weed  the  crop, 
And  pluck  the  tares  in  anger  up." 

The  hills,  for  miles  around,  reverberated  the  bursting  chorus, 

"For  soon  the  reaping  time  will  come, 
And  angels  shout  the  harvest  home !" 

The  ministers  came  down  from  the  stand,  and  distributed 
themselves  among  the  people ;  bowed  heads  and  shaking  forms 
marking  their  path ; — a  woman  from  the  most  remote  quarter  of 
the  throng,  rushed  up  to  the  mourner's  seats,  and  flung  herself 
upon  her  knees  with  a  piercing  cry; — another  and  another; — 
some  weeping  aloud ;  some  in  tearless  distress ; — numbers  knelt 
where  they  had  sat ; — and  louder  and  louder,  like  the  final  trump, 
and  the  shout  of  the  resurrection  morn,  arose  the  surge  of  song; — 

"  For  soon  the  reaping  time  will  come 
And  angels  shout  the  harvest  home !" 

Carry  trembled  and  shrank;  and  Ida's  firmer  nerves  were 
quivering.  A  lull  in  the  storm,  and  a  man  knelt  in  the  aisle, 
to  implore  "  mercy  and  pardon  for  a  dying  sinner,  who  would 
not  try  to  avert  the  wrath  to  come." 

Sonorous  accents  went  on  with  his  weeping  petition; — praying 


106  ALONE. 

for  "  the  hardened,  thoughtless  transgressors — those  who  had 
neither  part  nor  lot  in  this  matter;  who  stood  afar  off,  despising 
and  reckless."  Again  rolled  out  a  chorus;  speaking  now  of 
joyful  assurance. 

"Jesus  my  all  to  heaven  has  gone — 

(When  we  get  to  heaven  we  will  part  no  more,) 
He  whom  I  fix  my  hopes  upon — 

When  we  get  to  heaven  we  will  part  no  more. 
Oh !  Fare-you-well !  oh !  fare-you-well ! 
When  we  get  to  heaven  we  will  part  no  more, 

Oh !  Fare-you-well !" 

Ida's  eyes  brimmed,  and  Carry  sobbed  with  over-wrought 
feeling.  Arthur  bent  over  the  railing  and  spoke  to  the  latter. 
He  looked  troubled, — but  for  her :  Lynn  stood  against  one  of 
the  pillars  which  supported  the  roof;  arms  crossed,  and  a  redder 
mantling  of  his  dark  cheek ;  Charley  was  cool  and  grave,  taking 
in  the  scene  in  all  its  parts,  with  no  sympathy  with  any  of  the 
phases  of  emotion.  The  tumult  increased;  shouted  thankgivings, 
and  wails  of  despair ;  singing  and  praying  and  exhorting,  clash- 
ing in  wild  confusion. 

"  You  had  best  not  stay  here,"  said  Arthnr  to  Carry,  whose 
struggles  for  composure  he  could  not  bear  to  see. 

"Suffer  me  to  pass,  Dr.  Dana;"  and  a  venerable  minister 
stooped  towards  the  weeping  girl.  "  My  daughter,  why  do  you 
remain  here,  so  far  from  those  who  can  do  you  good  ?  You  are 
distressed  on  account  of  sin;  are  you  ashamed  to  have  it  known  ? 
Do  you  not  desire  the  prayer  of  Christians?  I  will  not  affirm 
that  you  cannot  be  saved  anywhere ;  '  the  arm  of  the  Lord  is  not 
shortened/  but  I  do  warn  you,  that  if  you  hang  back  in  pride  or 
stubbornness,  you  will  be  lost ;  and  these  only  can  detain  you 
after  what  you  have  heard.  Arise,  and  join  that  company  of 
weeping  mourners,  it  may  not  be  too  late." 

Carry  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  kneel  where  you  are,  and  I  will  pray  for  you." 

She  dried  her  tears.  "  Why  should  I  kneel,  Mr.  Manly  ?  I 
do  not  experience  any  sorrow  for  sin." 

«  My  child !" 

"  My  tears  are  not  those  of  penitence ;  I  do  not  weep  for  iny 
»infulness ;  I  can  neither  think  nor  feel  in  this  confusion." 

The  good  man  was  fairly  stumbled  by  this  avowal. 

"  Have  you  no  interest  in  this  subject  ?" 


ALONE.  107 

"Not  more  than  usual,  sir.  My  agitation  proceeded  from 
animal  excitement." 

"I  am  fearful  it  is  the  same  in  a  majority  of  instances,  Mr. 
Manly ;"  said  Arthur,  respectfully. 

11  You  my  perceive  your  error  one  day,  my  son ;  let  me  entreat 
you  to  consider  this  matter  as  binding  up  your  eternal  welfare ; 
and  caution  you  not  to  lay  a  feather  in  the  way  of  those  who  may 
be  seeking  their  salvation." 

Arthur  bowed  silently;  and  the  minister  passed  on. 

Dr.  Carleton  retired  early  that  evening  with  a  headache. 
Mrs.  Dana  was  getting  the  children  to  sleep ;  the  young  people 
had  the  parlor  to  themselves.  Charley  was  at  the  piano,  finger- 
ing over  sacred  airs ;  psalm  tunes,  sung  by  the  Covenanters,  in 
their  craggy  temples,  or  murmuring  to  an  impromptu  accompani- 
ment, a  chant  or  doxology.  All  at  once  he  struck  the  chords 
boldly,  and  added  the  full  powers  of  the  instrument  to  his  voice, 
in  the  fine  old  melody  of  Brattle  Street.  Lynn  ceased  his  walk 
through  the  room,  and  united  his  rich  base  at  the  second  line  j 
Arthur,  a  tenor;  Catry  and  Ida  were  happy  to  be  permitted  to 
listen — 

"  While  Thee  I  seek,  protecting  Power, 

Be  my  vain  wishes  stilled  ; 
And  may  this  consecrated  hour 

With  better  hopes  be  filled. 

Thy  love  the  power  of  thought  bestowed, 

To  thee  my  thoughts  would  soar; 
Thy  mercy  o'er  my  life  has  poured, 

That  mercy  I  adore. 

In  each  event  of  life  how  clear 

Thy  ruling  hand  I  see  ! 
Each  mercy  to  my  soul  most  dear, 

Because  conferred  by  Thee. 

In  every  joy  that  crowns  my  days, 

In  every  pain  I  bear, 
My  heart  shall  find  delight  in  praise, 

Or  seek  relief  in  prayer. 

When  gladness  wings  my  favored  hour, 

Thy  love  my  thoughts  shall  fill; 
Resigned — when  storms  of  sorrow  lower, 

My  soul  shall  meet  Thy  will. 

My  lifted  eye,  without  a  tear, 

The  gathering  storm  shall  see; 
My  steadfast  heart  shall  know  no  fear, 

That  heart  will  rest  on  Thee!" 


108  ALONE. 

"  There !"  said  Charley,  "  there  is  more  religion  in  that  hymn 
than  in  all  the  fustian  we  have  heard  to-day ;  sermons,  prayers 
and  exhortations.  Humbug  in  worldly  concerns  is  despicable ; 
in  the  church,  it  is  unbearable." 

«  Consider,  Charley,  that  hundred  of  pious  people  believe  in 
the  practices  you  condemn.  Some  of  the  best  Christians  I  know 
were  converted  at  these  noisy  revivals,"  said  Carry. 

"  It  would  be  miraculous  if  there  were  not  a  grain  or  two  of 
wheat  in  this  pile  of  chaff.  I  never  attend  one  that  I  am  not 
the  worse  for  it.  It  is  a  regular  annealing  furnace;  when  the 
heat  subsides  you  can  neither  soften  or  bend  the  heart  again — 
the  iron  is  steel.  What  dees  Miss  Ida  say  ?" 

"  That  sin  is  no  more  hateful,  or  religion  more  alluring,  for 
this  Sabbath's  lessons ;  still,  I  acquiesce  in  Carry's  belief,  that 
although  mistaken  iu  their  zeal,  these  seeming  fanatics  are 
sincere." 

"You  applaud  enthusiasm  upon  other  subjects,  why  not  in 
religion?"  asked  Lynn ,  "  if  any  thing,  it  is  everything.  If  Icould 
believe  that,  when  the  stormy  sea  of  life  is  passed,  heaven — an 
eternal  noon-tide  of  love  and  blessedness  would  be  mine — a  life- 
time would  be  too  short,  mortal  language  too  feeble  to  express 
my  transport.  There  is  a  void  in  the  soul  which  nought  but  this 
can  satisfy.  Life  is  fresh  to  us  now ;  but  from  the  time  of 
Solomon  to  the  present,  the  worlding  has  nauseated  at  the  pol- 
luted spring,  saying,  '  For  all  his  days  are  sorrow,  and  his  travail 
grief;  yea,  his  heart  taketh  not  rest  in  the  night.'  I  envy — not 
carp  at  the  joys  of  those  whose  faith,  piercing  through  the  fogs 
of  this  lower  earth,  reads  the  sure  promise — 'It  is  your  Father's 
good  pleasure  to  give  you  the  kingdom.'  " 

"You  do  homage  to  the  beauty  of  the  Faith,  by  whomsoever 
professed.  I  note  its  practical  effects ;  judge  of  its  genuineness 
by  its  workings.  For  example,  the  Old  Harry  awoke  mightily 
within  me,  in  intermission,  to  see  Dick  Hogers  preaching  to 
Carry,  threatening  her  with  perdition — she,  who  never  in  her 
life,  committed  a  tenth  of  the  sin  he  is  guilty  of  every  day.  He 
has  been  drunk  three  times  in  the  last  month ;  he  is  a  walking 
demijohn  ;  his  hypocrisy  a  shame  to  his  grey  hairs.  And  James 
Mather — he  would  sell  his  soul  for  a  fourpence,  and  call  it  clear 
gain.  Sooner  than  lose  a  crop,  he  forces  his  negroes  to  work  on 


ALONE.  109 

Sunday — can'i  trust  the  God  of  harvest,  even  upon  His  own 
day.  The  poor  hands  are  driven  on  week-days  as  no  decent 
man  would  do  a  mule ; — he  let  his  widowed  sister  go  to  the  poor- 
house,  and  offered  to  lend  John  five  thousand  dollars,  the  next 
week  at  eight  per  cent.  I  have  known  him  since  I  was  a  shaver, 
and  never  had  a  word  from  him  upon  the  <  one  thing  needful,' 
except  at  church.  And  he  was  in  the  altar,  this  morning,  shout- 
ing as  though  the  Lord  were  deaf  I" 

«  Charley  !  Charley  !" 

"  Facts  are  obstinate  things,  Carry.  Next  to  being  hypocri- 
tical ourselves,  is  winking  at  it  in  others.  The  church  keeps 
these  men  in  her  bosom ;  she  must  not  complain,  if  she  shares 
in  the  odium  they  merit.  They  are  emphatically  sounding 
brass." 

"  Let  them  grow  together  until  the  harvest,"  said  Arthur. 
"  It  is  a  convincing  proof  of  the  truth  of  Religion,  that  there  are 
careful  counterfeits." 

" I  do  not  impeach  the  'truth  of  Religion.'  You  need  not 
speak  so  reproachfully,  Arthur.  I  believe  in  the  Christianity  of 
the  Scriptures.  What  I  assail,  is  intermittent  piety  ;  springs, 
whose  channels  are  dusty,  save  at  particular  seasons  ; — camp- 
meetings  and  the  like ;  men,  who  furbish  up  their  religion,  along 
with  their  go-to-meeting  boots,  and  wear  it  no  longer.  Their 
brethren  despise  them  as  I  do ;  but  their  mouths  are  shut,  lest 
they  <  bring  disgrace  upon  their  profession.'  It  can  have  no 
fouler  disgrace  than  their  lives  afford,  I  speak  what  others  con- 
ceal ;  when  one  of  these  whited  sepulchres  lifts  his  Bible  to  break 
my  head,  for  a  graceless  reprobate,  I  pelt  him  with  pebbles  from 
the  clear  brook.  Look  at  old  Thistleton  !  a  mongrel, — 
porcupine  and  bull-dog; — pricking  and  snarling  from  morning 
'till  night.  A  Christian  is  a  gentleman;  he  is  a  surly  growler. 
Half  of  the  church  hate,  the  other  half  dread  him;  yet  he  sits 
on  Sabbaths,  in  the  high  places  of  the  synagogues,  leads  prayer- 
meetings,  and  weeps  over  sinners — sanctified  <  brother  Thistleton.' 
He  thunders  the  law  at  me ;  and  I  knock  him  down  with  a  stout 
stick,  St.  John  cuts  ready  to  my  hand ; — « If  a  man  say,  I  love 
God,  and  hate  his  brother,  he  is  a  liar  !'  I  hush  up  Rogers, 
with — <  No  drunkard  shall  inherit  the  kingdom ;'  and  Mather, 
with,  t  you  cannot  serve  God  and  Mammon.'  They  say  I  am  a 
10 


110  ALONE. 

scoffer; — I  don't  care.  Now" — continued  this  contrary  being, 
passing  ink  a  tone  of  reverent  feeling ; — «  There  is  my  kind 
guardian.  I  don't  believe  he  ever  shouted,  or  made  a  public 
address  in  his  life.  He. lives  his  religion;  a  child  can  perceive 
that  the  Bible  is  a  <  lamp  to  his  feet ;'  a  pillar  of  cloud  in  pros- 
perity ;  a  sun  in  adversity.  I  saw  it  when  a  boy,  and  it  did  me 
more  good  than  the  preached  sermons  I  have  listened  to  since. 
He  called  me  into  his  study  the  night  before  I  left  home,  and  gave 
me  a  copy  of  '  the  book.'  <  Charley,  my  son/  said  he,  <  you  are 
venturing  upon  untried  seas ;  here  is  the  Chart,  to  which  t  have 
trusted  for  twenty  years ;  and  have  never  been  led  by  it,  upon  a 
quicksand.  Look  to  it,  my  boy  !'  I  have  read  it,  more,  because 
he  asked  it,  than  for  its  intrinsic  value;  that  is  my  failing,  not 
his.  I  have  waded  through  sloughs  of  theories  and  objections; 
but  hold  to  it  still.  Especially,  when  I  am  here,  and  kneel  in 
my  old  place  at  the  family  altar ;  hear  the  solemn  tones,  that 
quieted  my  boyish  gayety ;  when  I  witness  his  irreproachable, 
useful  life,  I  say,  <  His  chart  is  true ;  would  I  were  guided  by 
it !'  No — no — Art.  !  I  may  be  careless  and  sinful ; — I  am  no 
skeptic." 

"  A  skepticl"  exclaimed  Lynn.  "  There  never  was  one ! 
Voltaire  was  a  fiend  incarnate;  a  devil,  who  'believed and  trem- 
bled,' in  spite  of  his  hardihood ;  Paine,  a  brute,  who,  inconve- 
nienced by  a  soul,  which  would  not  sink  as  low  as  his  passions 
commanded,  tried  to  show  that  he  had  none,  as  the  easiest 
method  of  disembarrassing  himself.  That  one  of  God's  creatures, 
who  can  look  up  to  the  glories  of  a  night  like  this,  or  see  the 
sun  rise  to-morrow  morning,  and  peep,  in  his  insect  voice,  a 
denial  of  Him  who  mada  the  world,  is  demon  or  beast; — often 
both.  (  Call  no  man  happy  'till  he  dies/  Atheists  have  gone 
to  the  stake  for  their  opinions;  but  physical  courage  or  the  heat 
of  fanaticism,  not  the  belief,  sustained  them.  We  have  yet  to 
hear  of  the  infidel,  who  died  in  his  bed, 

'As  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams.' " 

« It  is  a  mystery  that  one  can  die  tranquilly,"  said  Carry. 
"  I  have  stood  by  many  peaceful  death-beds,"  returned  Arthur. 
"  I  never  wish  so  ardently  for  an  interest  in  the  Redemption,  as 


ALONE.  Ill 

when  I  watch  the  departure  of  a  saint.  One  verse  is  in  my 
mind  for  days  afterwards.  I  repeat  it  aloud  as  I  ride  alone  ;  and 
it  lingers  in  my  last  waking  thought  at  night : 

'Jesus  can  make  a  dying  bed 

Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are ; 
'While  on  his  breast,  I  lean  my  head, 

And  breathe  my  life  out  sweetly  there.' 

"And  why  do  you  not  encourage  these  feelings?"  asked 
Charley,  bluntly.  "I  call  that  conviction;  a  different  thing 
from  the  burly  of  this  morning.  You  want  to  be  a  Christian; — 
so  do  I  sometimes;  but  you  are  a  more  hopeful  subject." 

"  I  am  by  no  means  certain  of  that.  You  would  never  abide 
with  the  half-decided,  so  long  as  I  have  done.  You  are  one 
of  the  <  violent,'  who  would  take  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  by 
force." 

"  How  strange  !"  said  Charley,  thoughtfully. 

"  What  is  strange  ?"  inquired  his  brother. 

"  Here  are  five  of  us,  as  well-assured  of  the  verity  of  Chris- 
tianity, and  God's  revealed  Word,  as  of  our  own  existence ;  the 
ladies,  practising  every  Christian  virtue;  Lynn,  prepared  to 
break  a  lance  with  infidelity  in  any  shape ;  you,  like  Agrippa, 
almost  persuaded ;  and  I,  stripping  off  the  borrowed  plumage  of 
those  who  have  a  name  to  live ; — yet  we  will  be  content  to  close 
our  eyes  in  sleep,  uncertain  of  re-opening  them  in  life ; — unfit 
for  Death  and  Eternity  !" 

He  turned  again  to  the  piano;  Arthur  quitted  the  room ;  Lynn 
gazed  out  of  the  window,  with  working  features ;  Carry  shaded 
her  eyes  with  her  hand ;  Ida  felt  a  cold  awe  creeping  over  her. 
1  Death  and  Eternity !'  had  she  heard  the  words  before  ?  how  out 
of  place  in  the  bright  warm  life  they  were  leading  !  Here  were 
true  friendships,  tried  and  strengthened  by  years ;  young  love, 
joying  in  his  flowery  course;  refined  and  congenial  spirits;  the 
luxuries  of  wealth  and  taste; — how  unwelcome  the  hand  that 
lifted  the  drapery  which  enveloped  the  skeleton  !  ( Death  and 
Eternity!'  The  spell  was  upon  the  scented  air;  the  moon 
threw  shadows  upon  the  grass,  as  of  newly  heaped  graves ;  and 
the  vibrating  cords  spoke  but  of  the  one  awful  theme  ! 


112  ALONE 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  OUR  last  ride — can  it  be !"  said  Lynn,  when  the  horses 
were  brought  to  the  gate,  early  in  a  September  afternoon.  Ida 
smiled  faintly.  The  parting  of  the  morrow,  was,  to  her,  the 
death  of  a  summer's  day,  to  be  succeeded  by  wintry  darkness. 
Not  even  Carry  knew  how  the  prospect  oppressed  her. 

Lynn  saw  that  his  remark  was  injudicious,  and  endeavoured 
to  atone  for  it,  by  the  most  delicate  assiduity  of  attention. 
Their  liking  had  matured  into  an  attachment,  which  might  have 
been  predicated  upon  their  consonance  of  feeling  and  sentiment. 
Her  calmer  judgment  gave  her  the  ascendancy,  which  belonged 
of  right,  to  the  masculine  mind  ;  he  did  not  look  up — she  could 
not  have  respected  him  if  he  had ;  but  he  consulted  and  appealed 
to  her,  as  a  brother  would  ask  counsel  of  an  elder  sister.  She 
learned  to  imitate  Charley,  in  curbing  his  impetuosity ;  and  he 
chafed  less  at  her  soft  touch  upon  the  rein.  No  bantering 
checked  the  growth  of  their  friendship ;  they  were,  for  the  time, 
members  of  one  family  j  Lynn  and  Charley  were  no  more  to  the 
disengaged  young  lady  than  Arthur. 

Their  excursion  was  to  a  splendid  mansion,  fifteen  miles  from 
Poplar-grove,  lately  completed,  and  not  yet  occupied  by  a 
wealthy  landed  proprietor,  the  Crossus  of  the  county.  Arthur 
had  seen  it,  and  carried  home  such  a  report  of  its  stately  gran- 
deur, that  a  visit  was  forthwith  projected.  Nature  was  in  one 
of  her  richest  autumnal  moods. 

"  She  dies,  as  a  queen  should — in  royal  robes," — said  Lynn. 
"  Note  the  purple  haze  upon  those  hills,  and  the  yellow  glory 
that  bathes  the  foreground !  I  would  sacrifice  this  right  arm, 
could  I  first  transfer  that  light  to  canvass.  Loveliness  like  this 
maddens  me  with  a  Tantalus  frenzy.  To  think  that  it  must 
fade,  when  it  should  be  immortal !  I  would  have  it  ever  before 
me." 

"It  lives  in  your  memory.  That  is  a  pleasure,  time  nor 
distance  diminishes." 

« I  am  not  satisfied  with  this  selfish  hoarding.     A  voice  is 


ALONE.  113 

ever  urging  me  on, — 'Create!  create!'  it  cries;  and  while  my 
pencil  moves,  I  am  a  creator  j  exulting  in  the  pictures  graven 
upon  my  soul,  as  no  parent  ever  joyed  over  a  beloved  child. 
<  They  are  mine — mine !'  I  repeat  in  an  ecstacy.  I  have  wept 
above — almost  worshipped  them !  Then  comes  the  chill,  grey 
light  of  critical  reason,  as  when  you  awake  at  morning,  and  see 
things  as  they  are :  the  soul-pictures  are  beauteous  still : — my 
copy  the  veriest  daub  I" 

11  The  keenness  of  your  disappointment  is  an  augury  of  success. 
The  lithography  is  perfect — you  must  not  despond  at  the  failure 
of  one  proof-impression.  Your  mortification  is  a  greater  triumph 
than  the  complacency  with  which  a  mediocre  genius  surveys  his 
work." 

"  You  remember  Sheridan's  maiden  speech,"  said  Charley. 

"  I  have  read  of  Demosthenes',"  replied  Lynn. 

"  Sheridan's  was  a  similar  case.  He  was  hooted  at  for  his 
presumption  ;  his  first  and  second  attempts  were  wretched  :  and 
his  friends  advised  him  to  retire  from  the  rostrum  forever. 
'Never !'  said  he,  striking  his  breast.  <It  is  here,  and  shall  come 
out!'" 

"A  glorious  'coming  out'  it  was!"  responded  Ida.  "What 
do  you  say  now  ?" — to  Lynn. 

"That  it  is  here!"  returning  her  bright  look.  "Was  ever 
man  more  blessed  in  his  friends  ?  More  fortunate  than  Adam,  I 
take  my  guardian  angels  with  me,  from  the  Paradise  I  leave 
to-morrow." 

"  You  must  array  one  in  a  less  questionable  shape,  if  you 
would  have  men  admit  his  angelic  relationship,"  said  Charley, 
with  a  grimace.  "  What  are  you  looking  at?" 

Lynn  did  not  reply.  They  were  upon  a  hill ;  and  some  object 
in  the  valley  beneath  fastened  his  gaze.  The  pensive  cast  of  his 
features  bordered  upon  gloom,  as  they  neared  it.  Ida  saw  only 
a  graceful  knoll,  bounded,  except  towards  the  west,  by  a  chain 
of  more  imposing  eminences.  A  monarch  oak  stood  in  isolated 
sovereignty  upon  its  summit ;  it  had  shaded  a  dwelling,  for  one 
chimney  yet  remained ;  and  the  sickly  herbage  of  the  slope  was 
not  the  produce  of  a  virgin  soil.  Lynn  stopped.  Not  a  word 
was  spoken,  his  eyes  were  too  full  of  tender  sadness  j  the  man-- 
not the  artist,  looked  from  them. 

10* 


114  ALONE. 

"  A  lonely  tree,  and  a  desolate  hearth-stone  I"  muttered  he. 
"It  is  prophetic!" 

"  Is  the  spot  known  to  you?"  asked  Ida,  gently,  as  they  rode 
on. 

"  It  was  my  birth-place." 

"I  had  forgotten;"  said  Charley.  "You  were  very  young 
when  you  left  it." 

"  But  I  remember  it.  I  could  point  out  to  you  the  very  place 
where  my  mother  taught  me  to  walk; — a  grass-plat  before  the 
door : — she  upon  the  step,  my  father  kneeling  at  a  short  distance, 
and  each  tempting  me  to  undertake  the  journey  from  one  to  the 
other.  They  are  gone !  parents,  brother,  sisters  I  there  is  but 
one  puny  scion  of  a  noble  line  remaining!" 

Ida  turned  her  face  away.  The  sad  story  everywhere !  Was 
there  justice — there  was  not  mercy — in  thus  rending  away  the 
sweetest  comforts  man  can  know, — while  avarice,  and  pride  and 
malevolence  rioted  in  unharmed  luxuriance.  Earth  was  a  cheat, 
and  happiness  a  lie  ! 

"  This  is  a  fine  piece  of  road,"  said  Charley,  «  and  we  are 
jogging  over  it,  like  Quakers  going  to  market.  I  say !  Art. !" 

"Well!"  answered  his  brother,  who  was  some  yards  in 
advance. 

"  Don't  you  think  your  Kosinante  would  be  benefitted  by  a 
taste  of  the  spur?" 

Oh !  the  delight  of  a  sweeping  gallop  in  the  open  country  !  the 
elate  consciousness  of  strength  and  liberty,  as  the  magnificent 
animal  beneath  you  exerts  every  thew  and  sinew  in  obedience  to 
your  voice  and  hand ;  you  and  he  together  forming  one  resistless 
power,  free  as  the  rushing  air — able  to  overleap  or  bear  down 
any  obstacle !  The  jocund  tones  wafted  back  by  the  breeze 
attested  the  efficacy  of  Charley's  prescription. 

"That  bend  hides  'the  Castle;'"  called  out  Arthur. 

"  I  will  be  the  first  to  see  it !"  exclaimed  Carry,  and  as  the 
turning  was  gained,  she  raised  herself  from  the  saddle.  It  was 
an  unguarded  moment ; — the  horse  circled  the  bend  in  a  run ; 
and  she  was  thrown  directly  in  the  road  of  the  trampling  hoofs 
behind.  Charley's  horse  fell  back  upon  his  haunches ; — there 
was  giant  might  in  the  hand  that  reined  him ; — an  inch  nearer, 
-nd  she  was  lost!  for  his  fore-feet  grazed  her  shoulder. 


ALONE.  115 

« My  dearest  love  I"  cried  the  agitated  Arthur,  raising  her  in* 
his  arms.  "  Thank  God  !  you  axe  not  killed  I" 

"  I  am  not  hurt,  dear  Arthur !  you  are  all  so  frightened !  it 
was  very  careless  in  me.  Indeed  I  do  not  require  support — I 
am  not  injured  in  the  least!" 

"  Are  you  sure  ?"  questioned  Ida,  anxiously  :  "  or  do  you  say 
it  for  our  sakes  ?" 

"  I  was  never  more  free  from  pain.  And  I  am  able  and  ready 
to  go  on  ?" 

"  You  were  her  saviour !"  Arthur  griped  his  brother's  hand, 
with  a  trembling  lip. 

"  No  thanks !  I  would  not  run  down  a  cow  or  sheep  if  I  could 
help  it." 

Arthur's  even  temper  was  tried  by  this  speech,  and  the  more, 
that  it  wounded  Carry. 

"  Coarse  !  unfeeling !"  thought  Ida.  She  grudged  him  the 
eloquent  affection  of  Lynn's  glance.  "I  do  not  care  to  go  fur- 
ther j"  said  she,  when  Carry  was  reseated. 

"  What !  turn  back  within  sight  of  the  Promised  Land  ?"  said 
Carry.  "  Do  not  cause  me  to  feel  that  I  have  spoiled  your  after- 
noon's pleasure !  Oscar  and  I  will  not  part  company  again  so 
unceremoniously, — will  we,  old  fellow  ?  Allons  !"  and  she  shook 
the  reins  gaily.  The  rest  followed  with  reluctance,  and  for 
awhile,  very  soberly.  The  thought  of  what  might  have  been 
the  result  of  the  accident,  she  treated  so  lightly,  precluded  jest, 
and  they  would  not  speak  of  it  seriously.  By  tacit  consent,  it 
was  not  referred  to  again.  Lynn  recovered  himself  first  j  he 
forgot  everything  but  the  fair  domain  they  were  entering ;  and 
his  raptures  awakened  the  others  to  its  attractions.  The  house 
was  a  princely  pile,  rearing  its  towers  from  the  midst  of  a  finely- 
wooded  park.  The  architecture  was  Gothic,  and  perfect  in  all 
its  parts,  even  to  the  stained  windows,  imported,  at  an  immense 
expense,  from  abroad.  A  village  at  the  base  of  the  hill,  was 
peopled  by  the  negroes,  of  whom  there  were  more  than  an 
hundred  connected  with  the  plantation.  The  equestrians  rode 
up  the  single  street.  Good  humour  and  neatness  characterised  the 
simple  inhabitants;  children  drew  to  one  side  of  the  road,  with 
smiles  and  courtesies ;  the  aged  raised  their  bleared  eyes,  to  reply 
to  the  respectful  salutations  of  the  young  riders ;  through  the 


116  ALONE. 

open  doors  were  seen  clean,  comfortably-furnished  rooms  ;~in 
most,  the  tables  were  spread  for  the  evening  meal,  and  the  busy 
housewives  preparing  for  their  husband's  return  from  field  or 
forest. 

"  These  are  thy  down-trodden  children,  0  Africa  !"  said  Ida, 
sarcastically. 

Lynn  fired  up.  "They  are  the  happiest  beings  upon  the 
globe." 

"  So  far  as  animal  wants  are  concerned,"  subjoined  Arthur. 

"  I  do  not  accept  of  that  clause.  They  are  happy !  They 
have  a  kind  and  generous  master ;  every  comfort  in  health  ; 
good  nursing  when  ill;  their  church  and  Bible,  and  their 
Saviour,  who  is  also  ours.  What  the  race  may  become,  I  do  not 
pretend  to  say.  These  are  far  in  advance  of  the  original  stock ; 
but  their  intellectual  appetite  is  dull,  and  I  dare  affirm  that  in 
nine  cases  out  of  ten  it  is  satisfied.  I  never  knew  a  master  who 
denied  his  servants  permission  to  read,  and  many  have  them 
taught  by  their  own  children.  The  slave  lies  down  at  night, 
every  want  supplied,  his  family  as  well  cared  for  as  himself; 
not  a  thought  of  to-morrow !  he  is  secure  of  a  home  and  mainte- 
nance, without  disturbing  himself  as  to  the  manner  in  which  it 
is  to  be  obtained.  Can  the  same  be  said  of  the  menial  classes  in 
any  other  country  under  the  sun  ?" 

"  American  as  ever !"  smiled  Carry. 

"  And  Virginian  as  ever  !  The  Old  Dominion  is  my  mother! 
he  is  not  a  loyal  son  who  does  not  prefer  her,  with  her  infirmi- 
ties and  foibles,  to  a  dozen  of  the  modern  <  fast '  belle  states. 
The  dear  old  creature  has  a  wrinkle  or  two  that  do  not  improve 
her  comeliness,  and  adheres  somewhat  pertinaciously  to  certain 
obsolete  ideas,  but  Heaven  bless  her !  the  heart  is  right  and 
sound !" 

Ida's  eyes  sparkled — 

" '  Where  is  the  coward  would  not  dare 
To  die  for  such  a  land !' 

Is  not  this  scenery  English,  Mr.  Holmes  ?  "We  seldom  see  so 
large  a  tract,  under  as  high  cultivation,  in  this  quarter  of  the 
globe;  and  where  will  we  find  another  palace  and  park  like 
that  ?" 

"  Mr.   Clinton   intends   to  stock  the  park  with  deer,"  said 


ALONE.  117 

Arthur.  "  That  will  bring  before  you  yet  more  vividly  the 
t  Homes  of  Merry  England/  " 

"  If  an  English  landscape,  it  is  an  Italian  light  that  gilds  it," 
replied  Lynn.  "  The  highlands  upon  the  other  side  of  the  river 
are  Scottish ;  and  the  tropical  growth  of  the  tobacco  fields  would 
not  be  out  of  place  under  the  Equator." 

"  Shocking  your  gleanings,  then,  you  return  to  what  Charley 
calls  <  the  original  proposition/  and  pronounce  it  American 
scenery,"  concluded  Arthur. 

"  Precisely.  One  need  not  go  abroad  in  quest  of  natural 
beauties.  The  fairest  are  culled  for  his  native  land." 

"  What  a  romantic  creek!  that  is  English!"  exclaimed  Ida. 
"  I  have  Gr.  P.  R.  James  for  authority ;  a  rocky  ford ;  a  steep 
bank  on  either  side;  tangled  undergrowth — and  actually,  a 
rustic  foot-bridge  !  Oh  !  for  the  solitary  horseman  !" 

"  There  he  is !"  ejaculated  Charley,  and  from  the  hazel- 
boughs  emerged  an  old  negro,  mounted  upon  a  shaggy  donkey, 
a  bag  of  corn  behind  him. 

"  There  is  but  a  step,  etc.,"  said  Ida,  despairingly.  « It  is 
my  fate  always  to  take  it." 

With  a  hearty  laugh,  they  wheeled  their  horses.  Charley  and 
Ida  had  the  lead.  Exhilarated  by  exercise  and  the  scenes 
through  which  they  had  passed,  and  accustomed  to  chat  fami- 
liarly with  him,  she  ran  on  for  some  time  without  remarking 
that  she  received  monosyllabic  replies. 

"  You  are  tired,"  she  observed. 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Out  of  humor,  then  ?" 

"Do  I  look  so?" 

"Not  when  you  smile;  but  you  are  not  making  yourself 
agreeable." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  I  had  ever  succeeded  in  doing  so." 

"  What !  when  Mr.  Holmes  says  you  are  the  only  man  who  is 
never  otherwise  I" 

"  He  is  partial.     You  can  teach  him  better." 

"  The  intimacy  between  you  two  mystifies  me  more  and  more. 
He  is  all  fire  and  impulse ;  you — " 

"  A  galvanised  icicle !    Do  I  freeze  you!" 


118  ALONE. 

"  No.  That  is  most  wonderful  of  all.  I  am  not  afraid  of  you 
— -although  I  have  a  cowardly  horror  of  being  laughed  at." 

"  A.  '  horror'  you  should  overcome;  it  proceeds  from  vanity. 
Like  most  of  us,  you  are  not  apt  to  do  or  say  things  which  you 
consider  particularly  silly ;  and  are  offended  that  the  public  sees 
them  in  that  light.  Lynn  is  afflicted  similarly,  in  a  still  greater 
degree.  It  will  get  him  into  trouble  yet." 

"  He  is  too  independent  to  vacillate  on  account  of  ridicule," 
said  Ida. 

"  Men  style  the  peevish  resentment  such  dispositions  exhibit, 
1  honor,' "  returned  Charley,  with  a  half  bitter  emphasis.  "  It 
is  one  of  the  million  misnomers  with  which  they  deceive  them- 
selves." 

"  Among  the  number  I  may  place  my  mistaking  conceit  for 
sensibility  ?" 

"And  concealment  of  one's  feelings  for  insensibility,"  he 
added. 

"  You  misunderstood  me,  Mr.  Dana.  I  do  not  think  you 
have  a  heart  of  adamant — " 

"But  that  I  have  none,"  he  interrupted;  his  kind  glance 
blunting  the  edge  of  his  words.  "  We  shall  understand  each 
other  better  by  and  by.  You  spoke  of  James  a  while  ago ;  do 
you  like  him  ?" 

"  No.  He  has  two  defects  which  spoil  everything  he  writes, 
at  least  to  me — verbosity  and  affectation." 

"  Not  to  mention  self-plagiarism;  but  that  is  a  common  fault. 
When  an  author  has  exhausted  his  capital,  he  had  better  sus- 
pend honorably  and  wait  until  he  has  funds  in  hands  to  recom- 
mence operations,  than  drag  on,  'shinning  it/  in  mercantile 
phrase,  until  the  reading  world  dishonors  his  notes.  Instead  of 
this,  James,  and  a  score  more  of  our  popular  writers  are  palming 
off  upon  us,  duplicates  and  re-duplicates  of  their  earliest  produc  • 
tions.  We  encounter  continually  some  old  acquaintance  in  a 
different  attire,  and  under  an  < alias.'  Warmed-over  dinners  are 
good  enough  in  their  place,  but  when  we  pay  the  same  price,  we 
have  a  right  to  be  dainty.  Dickens,  himself,  is  not  free  from 
this  charge." 

"  Oh  !  do  not  say  so !  I  will  not  hear  a  word  against  him. 
He  says  much  that  seems  irrelevant,  and  occasionally  a  thing 


ALONE.  119 

that  is  provokingly  absurd ;  but  it  is  grand  to  see  how,  in  the 
denouement,  he  catches  up  these  floating,  apparently  useless 
threads,  and  weaves  them  into  the  fabric.  He  works  with  less 
waste  than  any  light  author  of  the  day  j  all  is  smooth  and  firm ; 
no  ragged  edges  or  dropped  stitches.  And  if  his  charming  crea- 
tions are  set  before  us  more  than  once,  they  can  well  bear  a 
renewal  of  acquaintanceship." 

"  But  not  in  a  disguise  which  is  less  becoming  than  the  dress 
iu  which  we  first  knew  them.  When  we  cry  <  encore/  we  ask 
for  a  repetition,  not  an  imitation — too  often  a  burlesque." 

"  But,"  persisted  Ida,  warm  in  defence  of  her  favorite  Boz, 
"  where  shall  we  discover  new  phases  of  human  nature  ?  The 
fault  is  that  so  many  men  are  copies  of  others ;  we  must  not 
censure  the  painter  for  lack  of  originality,  who  writes  above  his 
sketches,  <  taken  from  life.'  Who  ever  reads  a  new  love  story  ? 
and  love  is  not  the  only  passion  which  is  the  same  the  world 
over." 

Charley  leaned  forward  to  brush  a  fly  from  his  horse's  ear. 

"  Are  there  no  peculiarities  in  your  lot  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Perhaps  so,"  she  replied,  startled  by  the  home-thrust. 

"Your  character  is  not  the  reflected  image  of  another's;  you 
have  never  seen  one  who  felt,  thought,  and  acted  exactly  as  you 
do ;  or  who  would  have  been  your  prototype,  had  your  outward 
circumstances  been  alike.  The  Great  Original  is  not  a  servile 
copyist." 

The  sun's  rim  was  below  the  horizon,  as  they  passed  Lynn's 
birth-place ;  but  a  parting  ray  shot  through  the  western  gap  upon 
the  knoll — the  solitary  bright  spot  in  the  landscape.  They  went 
rapidly  by ;  but  Ida  was  grateful  that  his  recollection  of  it  should 
be  linked  with  that  fragrant  eve,  and  gleaming  farewell  smile. 

"  It  is  singular  that  in  our  rides  we  should  not  have  taken 
this  road  before,"  said  Charley.  "  It  is,  just  here,  a  mere  bridle 
path,  but  I  thought  we  had  scoured  the  country." 

"  Did  you  know  Mr.  Holmes  when  he  lived  there  ?" 

"  No.     He  was  fourteen  years  old  when  we  met  at  school." 

"  The  homestead  is  a  pitiable  wreck,"  continued  Ida.  <  A 
lonely  tree  and  a  desolated  hearth  !'  he  said.  Those  mournful 
words  will  haunt  me." 

"His  is  a  sad  story.     His  parents  died  within  a  month  of 


120  ALONE. 

each  other — one  by  the  hand  of  violence,  the  other  of  a  broken 
heart.  He  had  lost  a  sister  previously ;  a  year  later  his  brother 
went  to  sea,  and  ship  nor  passengers  reached  the  port.  It  is 
now  three  years  since  the  death  of  a  younger  sister,  a  lovely  girl, 
of  consumption.  This  train  of  misfortunes  hangs  upon  Lynn's 
mind  and  heart.  He  will  have  it  that  he  belongs  to  a  doomed 
race.  But  for  his  warm  social  sympathies,  and  devotion  to  his 
art,  the  superstition  would  become  a  monomania." 

"  You  say  his  father  died  by  violence ;  was  he  murdered  ?" 

"  In  cold  blood." 

"  Horrible  !     And  the  assassin  ?" 

"Walks  the  earth,  an  TionouraUe  man  !  The  sword  of  justice 
has  no  point  for  the  duellist." 

"This  heathenish  practice  is  a  disgraceful  stain  upon  the 
escutcheon  of  our  State/'  said  Ida.  "  The  laws  are  not  in  fault ; 
popular  prejudice  does  not  sustain  them." 

"If  they  would  make  me  autocrat  for  one  year  I  would 
pledge  myself  to  abolish  this  system  of  double  murdering/' 
returned  he. 

"How?" 

"  Hang  the  survivor — " 

"What  naughty  words  are  you  saying?"  questioned  Lynn, 
from  Ida's  elbow. 

"  A  slip  of  the  tongue,  which  Miss  Ida  would  not  have  noticed, 
but  for  your  officiousness/'  answered  Charley.  "  Did  I  tell  you 
of  Art.'s  professional  call  last  night  ?  We  were  awakened  by 
an  uproarious  hallooing  at  the  gate. 

« <  Who's  there  ?'  hailed  Arthur. 

"  ( 0  doctor !  for  massy's  sake,  come  to  see  my  old  woman  ! 
she's  dyin' — I'm  Jeemes  Stiger — make  haste — I  reckon  she's 
most  done  dead  by  this  time/  and  the  poor  fellow  blubbered 
out. 

"  <  I'll  be  there  in  a  minute/  said  Art.     <  Don't  wait.' 

"  In  three  minutes  and  a  half  his  horse's  hoofs  were  clattering 
down  the  road,  as  though  Tarn  O'Shanter's  witch  were  upon  the 
crupper.  I  had  confidence  in  his  skill,  and  did  not  doubt  he 
would  try  whatever  could  relieve  'Mrs.  Jeemes  Stiger/  but  it  was 
a  ticklish  case ;  the  entire  contents  of  his  saddle-bags  could  not 
rescue  her  from  the  jaws  of  death,  if  he  had  indeed  clamped  her. 


ALONE.  121 

I  had  resolved  to  postpone  compassion  for  the  bereaved  husband, 
to  the  morning,  and  was  forgetting  everything  in  a  doze,  when 
the  trampling  of  a  horse  aroused  me.  I  threw  up  the  window. 
It  was  Art.,  in  as  hot  haste  as  when  he  set  out.  '  What  is  to 
pay  ?'  said  I,  as  he  came  in.  '  Forgotten  any  thing — or  is  tb.e 
woman  dead?' 

« t  Confound  her  !' 

"  I  knew  he  must  be  pretty  '  tall'  to  say  that. 

"  '  Never  be  a  doctor,  Charley.' 

"  '  I  wont,  my  dear  boy ;  but  what  is  the  matter  ? 

"'Why  nothing  —  just  nothing!'  beginning  to  laugh.  'I 
galloped  two  miles  like  a  race-rider,  and  ran  into  the  house, 
expecting  a  scene  of  distress — perhaps  of  death.  <  Mrs.  Jeemes' 
was  sitting  up,  rocking  herself  back  and  forth.  I  felt  her  pulse 
and  inquired  her  symptoms/ 

"  '  You  we/  stuttered  Stiger,  '  she's  been  sort  o'  poorly  and 
droopy  for  three  weeks,  and  better.  I've  been  'lotting  to  go  for 
you,  but  thought  maybe  she  mought  be  able  to  pick  up  after 
awhile.  To-night  I  was  so  hungry  myself  that  I  didn't  notice 
her  at  supper.  She  was  mighty  poking  all  the  evenin',  and  jest 
now,  s!i«  waked  me.  'Jeemes/  says  she,  '  when  folks'  appetites 
gives  u\t,  they  dies — don't  they  ?' 

« <  Tss,  honey/  says  I. 

"'Then  farewell/  says  she;  'I'm  a-goin'.  I  wouldn't  say 
no'A'o'  about  it  at  first,  but  I  couldn't  die  without  tellin'  you  I 
m.r  i-departinV 

' '  0,  Susan  !'  says  I;  'how  come  you  to  think  you  are  dyin'. 

"  '  Jeemes,'  says  she,  solemn  as  could  be ;  '  I  couldn't  eat  no 
*  upper,  'cept  one  herring  and  a  pone  of  bread,  and  one  cup  of 
Coffee.' 

«  '  Doctor !  you  think  she'll  live  'till  day  ?  Oh  !  if  I  had 
i-gone  for  you  three  weeks  ago  !'  "* 

"  '  When  shall  we  all  meet  again  ?' " 
said  Lynn  that  night,  at  the  hour  for  separation. 

"At  Christmas,  probably — next  summer,  certainly/'^ replied 
Arthur's  cheerful  voice. 

"  We  have  been  too  happy  together  to  hope  for  a  repetition 

*  Fact. 
11 


122  ALONE. 

of  the  pleasure,"  said  Ida.  "Two  such  summers  would  be 
more  than  falls  to  the  share  of  most  mortals." 

"  If  we  never  meet  again  in  this  life,  we  shall  see  each  other 
somewhere  at  the  end  of  the  turnpike/'  observed  Charley. 

Sad  as  were  the  feelings  of  the  little  company,  they  smiled  at 
his  tone  and  action. 

"Hush,  Charley!  I  am  petitioning  Ida  for  a  song,"  said 
Carry.  "  One  of  your  own,  my  dear.  We  like  no  other  so 
well.  Just  one  more,  that  I  may  fancy  I  hear  whenever  I  enter 
this  room." 

"A  parting  lay  from  our  Improvisatriee,"  entreated  Dr. 
Carleton. 

Her  voice  was  uncertain  and  low,  but  she  sang  the  simple 
ballad  with  a  pathos,  that  brought  the  moisture  to  the  eyes  of 
more  than  one  of  her  auditors. 


:'Away  with  thoughts  of  sadness,  love! 

I  will  be  gay  to-night ! 
I  would  awhile  indulge  the  hopes, 

To-morrow's  sun  will  blight. 
Oh !  once  again,  our  favorite  song!, 

Together  let  us  sing  ; 
And  thus  forget  the  wailing  strain 
To-morrow's  eve  will  bring. 
Away  with  thoughts  of  sadness,  lovo  I 
I  must  be  gay  to-night ! 

:' Alas !  'tis  vain !  we  who  have  loved 

So  long  and  well,  must  part ! 
The  smile  has  faded  from  my  cheek 

The  gladness  from  my  heart. 
And  since  at  this,  our  sad  farewell, 
For  months,  perchance,  for  years, 
We  cannot  join  in  blithesome  lay, 
Oh !  let  us  mingle  tears ! 
Away  with  thoughts  of  gladness,  love! 
For  I  must  weep  to-night  1" 


ALONE.  123 


CHAPTER    XI 

"I'M  very  lonely  now,  Carry!  and  weary,  and  wakeful  and 
home-sick.  You  and  your  home  have  spoiled  me ;  my  heart  has 
been  enlarged,  only  to  aggravate  the  old  empty  feeling;  you 
have  disabled  me  for  the  life  I  must  lead  here.  <  Discouraged 
already !'  I  hear  you  say.  '  Did  you  not  promise  to  be  good  and 
patient?'  I  am  not  like  you,  I  cannot  love,  unless  I  am  beloved; 
and  had  I  your  warm,  open  heart,  it  would  be  but  attempting  to 
heat  Nova  Zembla  with  a  foot-stove.  Hear,  before  you  reproach. 
Our  journey  was  pleasant.  The  children  behaved  &  merveille ; 
your  sister  was — as  she  always  is — tender  and  motherly,  (you 
know  what  that  last  means  from  me !)  and  the  conduct  of  our 
gallant  outriders  was  above  praise.  Leaving  Mrs.  Dana  at  her 
door,  Lynn  and  Charley  escorted  me  up-town.  With  their 
'good  nights/  and  promises  to  see  me  again  soon,  connection 
with  Poplar-grove  was  severed.  My  former  self — I  told  you 
how  it  would  be ! — was  waiting  for  me  inside  the  hall-door.  I 
was  as  little  changed  in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Read  and  his  daughter, 
as  they  were  in  mine.  The  first-named  was  upon  his  etiquette 
stilts;  and  Josephine's  fingers,  as  I  touched  them,  were  as  limp 
and  warm  as  the  digits  of  a  frozen  frog.  (Vide  Charley.)  I 
remembered  you  and  my  promise,  and  made  a  tremendous  effort. 
<  You  are  looking  so  well,  that  I  will  not  inquire  whether  your 
trip  was  as  delightful  as  you  anticipated ;'  to  the  daughter. 

"  <  We  spent  our  time  agreeably;'  dryly. 

"  <  Were  the  waters  of  Saratoga  beneficial  to  you,  sir  ?'  to  the 
father. 

"  'My  health  required  no  improvement;'  stiffly,  and  with  a 
smack  of  offended  dignity.  But  this  is  wrong,  Carry !  The  air 
of  this  house  must  warp  my  sense  of  right.  While  under  their 
roof,  I  should  not  ridicule  them.  There  was  pleasure  in  the  sad- 
ness of  last  night — last  night !  it  seems  a  century  since  I  There 
is  no  bright  thread  in  the  sombre  web  I  am  weaving  now !  I 
look  forward  with  a  sinking  spirit.  This  winter  will  bring  me 
trials  which  you  may  not  appreciate.  Josephine  and  myself 


124  ALONE. 

will  ever  remain  antagonistic ; — not  that  I  am  quarrelsome ;  I 
detest  strife.  I  am  sick  of  this  eternal  sparring  and  heart- 
burning;  but  I  am  no  dissembler;  and  I  foresee  many  contests; 
perhaps  as  many  defeats,  for  cool  audacity  is  more  than  a  match 
for  hot  blood  like  mine.  Our  characters  will  come  into  play 
upon  a  wider  stage  than  heretofore,  and  should  we  close  in  com- 
bat there,  the  struggle  will  be  fearful.  I  am  willing, — thanks 
to  you! — to  sacrifice  prejudice, — not  principle  or  self-respect. 
Three  long,  dreary  months  before  I  can  hope  to  see  you !  I 
fear  to  think  how  wicked  I  may  become  in  that  time.  Rich- 
mond is,  to  me,  a  Sahara,  whose  single  fountain  of  sweet  waters 
springs  up  within  your  sister's  home.  Those,  who,  within  a  few 
months,  were  unknown,  are  nearer  than  acquaintances  of  years' 
standing.  Poor  Rachel  stands  by,  waiting  to  undress  me,  her 
face  as  long  as  mine.  <  Ah !  Miss  Ida !  this  ain't  Dr.  Carleton's !' 
She  does  not  realise  how  painfully  conscious  I  am  of  that  fact. 
I  can  hardly  say  why  I  have  written  this  incoherent  note; 
except,  that  I  am  dispirited,  and  thirst  to  talk  to  you.  Forgive 
my  unhappy  egotism !  I  cannot  ask  you  to  respond  to  emotions 
which  never  swell  your  gentle  bosom.  To  your  best  of  fathers, 
present  my  warmest  regards.  I  owe  him  a  debt  I  cannot  repay. 
And  to  him,  dear  Carry,  whose  image  blends  with  yours,  in  my 
dreams  of  the  future ;  the  only  man  I  know,  to  whom  I  could 
willingly  resign  you,  give  a  sister's  love.  The  strongest  proof 
of  my  affection  is,  that  I  am  not  jealous.  Good  night !  and  a 
blessing,  my  dearest !  If  your  rest  will  be  the  sweeter  for  know- 
ing that  to  another,  than  him,  you  make  life  lovely,  believe  it ! 

As  ever,  yours, 

IDA." 

"  I  saw  Mr.  Lacy  upon  the  street,  to-day,"  remarked  Mr. 
Read,  £he  next  evening  at  supper. 

"Ah!"  said  Josephine,  delightedly.  "Did  you  speak  with 
him?" 

"Yes;  he  stopped  me  to  apologise  for  having  delayed  calling 
until  this  time.  He  is  studying  law  with  Mr.  L.;  and  has  little 
leisure  for  visiting — so  he  says." 

"  Did  you  inquire  after  his  sister's  health  ?" 

"  No.  You  had  better  do  so,  if  he  calls  this  evening.  He 
asked  whether  you  would  be  at  home." 


ALONE.  125 

Josephine  coloured  with  pleasure ;  and  Ida  was  curious  to  see 
one  who  had  inspired  them  with  such  respect  and  admiration; 
for  through  Mr.  Read's  assumed  carelessness,  it  was  easy  to 
discover  that  he  was  flattered  by  the  promised  visit.  She 
gathered  from  their  conversation  that  they  had  met  Mr.  Lacy 
at  the  Springs,  whither  he  had  gone  with  an  invalid  sister.  As 
Virginians,  they  attached  themselves  to  the  Read  party, — "the 
party  of  the  season/'  so  Josephine  unblushingly  asserted. 

Too  proud  to  go  into  the  drawing-room,  without  an  invitation, 
Ida  went  to  her  chamber,  to  spend  the  hours  between  supper  and 
bed-time,  in  reading. 

"  Miss  Josephine  must  'spect  her  beau ;  she's  mightily  fined 
off,"  commented  Rachel,  when  she  came  up  from  her  meal.  « I 
said  so !  thar's  the  door-bell !  Ain't  you  going  down,  Miss 
Ida?" 

"  No '" — not  withdrawing  her  eyes  from  her  book. 

"You  aint  a  school-girl  now,  Miss  Ida,"  Rachel  remon- 
strated. 

«  Well— and  if  I  am  not  ?" 

"  "Why,  young  ladies  ought  to  see  company.  I  can't  bear  for 
you  to  be  hiding  up  here,  just  like  you  was  an  edict  or  performed ; 
and  Miss  Josephine,  who  aint  nigh  so  pretty,  nor  good,  for  that 
matter,  is  stealing  all  the  beaux." 

"  In  other  words,  my  good  Rachel,  you  want  me  to  get 
married." 

"  Yes  ma'am,"  said  Rachel  boldly ;  » If  you  come  across  any 
body  to  suit  you,  I'd  a  heap  rather  you'd  be  his  wife,  than  to 
stay  here  to  be  pecked  at  and  worried." 

"  I  am  not  easily  worried ;  I  am  my  own  mistress,  and 
restrained  by  no  one." 

"Your  own  mistis',  Miss  Ida!  Don't  I  see  you  sittin'  at 
table,  and  in  the  parlor,  never  opening  your  mouth  to  say 
nothin' ;  and  aint  you  cooped  up  here  in  this  chamber,  because 
Miss  Josephine  aint  got  politeness  enough  to  ask  you  down  ? 
and  after  they've  been  making  as  much  of  you  at  Dr.  Carleton's 
as  if  you  had  been  the  Queen  of  Sheby  !  Miss  Carry  is  a  lady 
worth  talking  about,  and  so  is  Miss  Jenny — none  of  your  turned 
up  nose,  poor  white  folksy  sort.  I  wish  you  could  get  into  the 
fani'ly,"  she  added,  slyly. 

11* 


126  ALONE. 

Ida  read  on  in  silence. 

"  The  bell  agin !"  muttered  Rachel,  fretfully.  I  don't  know 
what  they're  coming  for.  If  they  knowed  as  much  as  we  ser- 
vants, they'd  as  soon  jam  their  fingers  into  a  steel-trap.  What 
do  you  want  ?"  she  said,  snappishly  to  the  footman  who  knocked 
at  the  door. 

"  Two  gentlemen  to  see  Miss  Ross — Mr.  Dana  and  Mr 
Holmes." 

"  I'll  tell  her ;"  she  returned,  greatly  mollified.  "  Now,  Miss 
Ida,  don't  scare  them  off  with  no  solemn  looks  and  talk.  Do 
just  like  you  did  at  Miss  Carry's;  and  'bove  all  things,  don't 
let  Miss  Josephine  cut  you  out  I" 

We  trust  to  the  reader's  good-nature  to  excuse  the  unfair  use 
which  Rachel  made  of  the  back  parlor  window.  The  affection- 
ate curiosity  that  prompted  her  to  "  peep  at  Miss  Ida,  as  she 
made  her  manners,"  was  gratified  by  seeing  her  receive  her  visi- 
tors with  as  mucli  affability  as  if  Carry,  instead  of  Miss  Read, 
were  present.  As  Rachel  surmised,  the  latter  had  a  beau;  and 
Ida's  hasty  survey  excited  a  feeling  of  surprise.  He  looked  and 
moved  the  gentleman ;  but  although  he  arose  with  the  others, 
and  remained  standing,  Josephine  did  not  introduce  him. 

Charley's  presence  of  mind  prevented  embarrassment. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Morton ;  I  thought  you  knew  Miss  Ross — 
Miss  Ida,  my  friend,  Mr.  Lacy." 

This  assumption  of  the  duties  of  host  at  a  first  call  would  have 
been  inexcusable  in  most  cases.  Josephine  understood  it,  as  it 
was  meant,  as  a  severe  rebuke  for  her  negligence  or  ill-breeding. 

The  "  my  friend,"  too,  nettled  her.  Mr.  Lacy  had  presented 
the  gentlemen  to  her  when  they  came  in,  and  had  spoken  to 
Charley  as  an  old  acquaintance,  but  what  right  had  this  stranger 
to  insinuate,  that,  as  his  friend,  Ida  had  a  title  to  her  "  pro- 
perty ?"  She  almost  forgave  him,  however,  when  she  found  that, 
for  the  present,  he  was  n&t  disposed  to  push  his  advantage.  He 
left  her  to  the  most  delightful  tete-a-tete ;  turned  his  back  quite 
upon  her,  and  addressed  himself  to  Ida.  She  would  have 
pocketed  a  dozen  insults  an  evening  to  sit  upon  the  same  sofa  with 
Morton  Lacy,  to  read  devotion  in  his  speaking  eyes,  and  hear 
love's  music  in  every  cadence  of  his  voice.  She  was  in  Elysium 
—with  but  one  drawback  upon  her  felicity.  The  group  across 


ALONE.  127 

the  room  were  maliciously  unobservant  of  the  tableau — her  high- 
born looking  suitor,  so  lover-like  as  he  bent  his  proud  head  to 
catch  the  words  that  melted  like  honey-dew  upon  her  lips;  and 
herself — with  falling  lids,  as  though  she  feared  he  might  see  more 
in  the  modest  eyes  than  maiden  coyness  would  have  him  know — 
they  must  notice  them,  and  seeing,  Ida  must  be  expiring  with 
envy,  and  the  gentlemen  regret,  while  they  envied,  that  they 
were  too  late  to  compete  for  the  prize.  It  is  not  often  that  the 
truth  is  as  sweet  as  the  darling  fictions  we  dream  to  ourselves, 
and  on  this  occasion,  assuredly,  the  reality  would  have  rendered 
wormwood  palatable  in  comparison ;  for  the  trio  of  friends  were 
unaffectedly  engrossed  with  each  other,  and  stupidly  ignorant  ot 
the  duett  played  near  them. 

"  Jenny  sent  her  love  to  you,"  said  Charley ;  "  she  will  call 
shortly.  She  complains  of  being  tired  out  with  the  labor  of  rec- 
tifying the  disorders  of  John's  bachelor  establishment.  She 
treated  us,  at  tea,  to  a  summary  of  his  domestic  economy. 
Half  of  the  time,  he  forgot  to  go  to  market,  and  wondered  at 
the  want  of  variety  in  the  fare.  The  cook  was  consulted,  and 
hinted  at  the  cause.  The  ensuing  day,  he  laid  in  provisions  for 
a  week,  particularly  of  such  commodities  as  frugal  housewives 
do  not  care  to  have  on  hand  in  hot  weather.  He  bought  a  pair 
of  parlor  lamps.  <  You  wished  to  surprise  me  by  this  handsome 
present,  I  suppose/  said  Jenny. 

" '  Why  no — I  should  not  have  purchased  them  if  the  old 
ones  had  not  been  worn  out/  said  he. 

"  <  Worn  out !  when  we  have  not  had  them  six  months !' 

"  <  Yes !'  answered  he,  positively.  '  They  would  not  burn — 
went  out  as  fast  as  I  lighted  them ;  and  worse  than  that,  the 

new  ones  have  got  into  the  same  way.  I  complained  to  W , 

and  he  said  they  were  the  best  he  had.' 

" '  Very  odd !'  said  Jenny,  unscrewing  one  of  the  lamps. 
Why,  Mr.  Dana  !  there  is  no  oil  in  it !  Have  they  been  filled 
regularly  ?' 

"  <  Never  thought  of  it  once  !'  exclaimed  John,  foolishly. 

"  See  how  useless  marrying  makes  a  man  ! 

"Bather,  how  comfortless  he  is  without  a  wife/'  responded 
Ida.  "  As  respects  order  and  management  in  household  mat- 
ters, I  have  an  idea  that  you  bachelors  are  not  much  superior  to 
the  Tartars." 


128  ALONE. 

"  Say  on  a  par  with  the  Hottentots,  and  you  will  be  nearer 
the  truth ;"  said  Lynn.  "  Nothing  can  be  well-done  that  is 
unnatural.  Not  one  man  in  a  hundred  has  a  talent  for  house- 
keeping; some  acquire  a  smattering  of  the  science,  and  make 
themselves  ridiculous  by  an  offensive  display  of  it.  Their  wives 
should  rig  them  in  kitchen  aprons,  set  them  to  rolling  out  pie- 
crust, and  officiate  as  their  substitutes  in  the  shop,  office,  or 
counting-room.  There  is  a  loud  hue  and  cry  after  '  strong- 
minded  women ;'  who  says  any  thing  about  weak-minded  men?" 

"  You  do  not  consider  that  the  feebler  intellect  belongs  of 
necessity,  to  the  feebler  body,  do  you  ?"  asked  Charley. 

"  Not  I !  Do  away  with  this  absurd  antipathy  to  clever 
women;  give  them  our  advantages  of  education,  and  they  will 
outshine  us  mentally,  as  they  do  morally.  The  mind  of  a  woman 
is  a  wonderful  thing;  like  the  scimetar  of  Saladin,  it  cuts 
through,  at  a  single  stroke  what  our  clumsy  blades  have  hacked 
at  in  vain.  Light,  graceful,  delicate — it  does  not  lack  power 
because  it  has  beauty." 

"It  is  very  pleasant  to  listen  to  agreeable  speeches,  even 
when  we  know  them  to  be  flattery,"  said  Ida ;  "  I  acquit  you  of 
insincerity,  Mr.  Holmes — I  perceive  that  Mr.  Dana  sides  with 
you — but  permit  me  to  say,  that  I  know  more  of  the  mental 
calibre  of  my  sex  than  either  of  you.  To  a  certain  point,  we 
can  rival  you  successfully — like  the  hare  and  tortoise — we  run 
well  for  a  time,  and  laugh  at  your  plodding ;  but  we  have  not 
the  taste  or  ability  to  bear  you  company  to  the^-goal.  As  well 
compare  the  bounding  flight  of  the  lark  to  the  heaven-ward  sweep 
of  the  eagle.  We  cannot  reason — we  are  persuaded  because  we 
feel  that  a  truth  exists — for  our  lives,  we  could  not  tell  you  why 
we  believe." 

"  And  this  is  an  argument  to  establish  your  inferiority  !" 
exclaimed  Lynn.  "  Where  is  the-  use  of  reasoning  ?  I  would 
trust  a  true  woman's  intuition  in  preference  to  all  the  systems 
of  logic  and  induction,  the  blundering,  lumbering  brain  of  man 
has  built.  Do  not  depreciate  this  angelic  faculty,  Miss  Ida ;  you 
hold  it  in  common  with  higher  intelligences." 

"  Yes  ! — I  doubt  if  Gabriel  bothers  his  head  with  syllogisms  or 
logarithms,"  said  Charley.  «  Two  to  one — Miss  Ida — give  up!" 

«  Men  are  inconsistent  creatures,"  said  she.     "  They  will  have 


ALONE.  129 

it  we  are  their  superiors, — exhaust  dictionaries  and  their  imagi- 
nations to  load  us  with  exalted  epithets;  and  behave,  as  though 
we  were  children,  to  be  coaxed  with  sugar-plums.  An  angel  in 
theory,  the  corporeal  woman  is  soundly  rated  if  dinner  is  late, 
or  a  room  unswept.  We  are  *  akin  to  higher  intelligences/—— 
but  let  one  presume  to  measure  lances  with  a  lord  of  creation  in 
a  conflict  of  minds,  and  how  quickly  is  she  assailed  by  the  hoots 
of  her  professed  adorers  !  You  will  allege  that  she  has  stepped 
out  of  her  sphere.  Granted — but  according  to  your  belief,  she 
has  stooped  to  your  level,  and  you  should  be  grateful  for  the 
grace.  Is  it  so  ?  '  The  ladith  are  divine,  tho  long  ath  they 
don't  meddle  with  thubjects  above  their  comprehenthion  /  lisps 
the  dandy  whose  organs  of  speech  serve  to  distinguish  him  from 
a  marmoset; — and  wise  doctors  of  law  and  medicine  and  divinity, 
read  us  homilies  upon  the  modesty,  the  humility,  the  submis- 
siveness  of  the  softer  sex,  and  recommend  St.  Paul  to  our  dili- 
gent perusal.  We  are  not  cherubim, — nor  yet  slaves; — not  your 
superiors ;  and  in  mind  are  far  from  being  your  equals ;  but  we 
do  hold  that  we  are,  or  ought  to  be  qualified  for  your  companions  j 
and  that  your  happiness  and  ours  would  be  enhanced  if  you 
would  throw  sentimental  nonsense  overboard,  and  take  this  prac- 
tical, every  day  view  of  the  case." 

"  Let  a  lady  alone  for  making  her  side  good  !"  said  Charley. 
<•'  W^'ll  call  it  square,  and  quit — which  Lynn  will  inform  you, 
is  a  cowardly  way  of  acknowledging  ourselves  beaten.  I  never 
argued  with  one  of  you  yet,  that  I  was  not  glad  to  sneak  off  in 
five  minutes  after  the  first  broadside." 

"  Their  right  makes  their  might /'  observed  Lynn,  gallantly. 

(c  And  their  invincible  obstinacy/'  returned  Charley.  "  That 
is  not  just  the  word — it  is  a  certain  never-give-up-able-ness, 
vexatiously  delightful,  which  precipitates  one  into  a  rage  and 
love,  at  the  same  time — he  is  divided  between  his  disposition  to 
kneel  to,  and  to  shoot  her  !" 

"  Are  you  tempted  to  murder  me  ?"  inquired  Ida. 

"  Not  at  all.  It  is  a  peculiarity  in  the  female  disposition, — 
she  can't  help  it — to  cry  '  scissors'  to  the  last." 

« I  do  not  comprehend." 

"Did  you  never  hear  the  <  tailor's  wife  and  scissors  ?'" 

«  A  story  of  your  own  coinage  ?"  asked  Lynn. 


130  ALONE. 

"  No — un  authentic  narrative.  A  tailor  having  amassed  a 
fortune  by  his  trade,  cut  the  shop  and  removed  to  the  country, 
to  live  in  dignified  leisure.  His  wife  was  a  bit  of  a  shrew,  and 
apt,  as  all  wives  are, — to  find  out  her  husband's  weak  points. 
One  of  these  was  a  shame  of  his  former  occupation,  and  she 
harped  upon  the  jarring  string,  until  the  poor  wretch  was  nearly 
beside  himself.  Her  touch-word,  <  scissors/  spoiled  his  finest 
bon  mots,  and  embittered  his  grandest  entertainment — it  was 
flame  to  tow.  He  stormed  and  wheedled,  threatened  and  bribed,,; 
the  obnoxious  instrument  was  constantly  brandished  before  his 
eyes.  They  were  walking,  one  day,  on  the  bank  of  a  river, 
bounding  his  grounds, — 1 1  have  displayed  extraordinary  taste 
in  the  selection  of  this  estate/  remarked  he,  '  Its  owner  should 
have  judgment,  as  well  as  wealth.  You  observe  the  Delta  formed 
by  the  fork  of  the 'river.  Its  beauty  decided  me  to  close  the 
contract/ 

"  Very  probable,  my  dear, — it  reminds  one  so  much  of  an 
open  pair  of  scissors  !' 

"  One  push — and  she  was  struggling  in  the  water. 

"  <  I  will  pull  you  out,  if  you  promise  never  to  say  that  word 
again  !'  halloed  the  still  foaming  husband. 

"  '  Scissors  !'  screeched  she.  and  down  she  went. 

"  '  Scissors  !'  as  she  arose  again.  The  third  time,  she  came 
to  the  surface,  too  far  gone  to  speak — but  as  the  waters  closed 
over  her,  she  threw  up  her  arms,  crossing  her  fore  fingers — thus 
— and  disappeared." 

Ida  laughed — her  rich,  musical  laugh,  which  awoke  strange 
echoes  in  those  formal  rooms.  Mr.  Bead's  portrait  frowned  down 
from  its  niche,  and  Josephine  raised  her  brows  with  an  air  of 
astonishment,  which  would  have  been  contempt,  had  she  not 
been  upon  the  amiable  at  the  time.  Another  started  too,  but 
with  a  different  expression.  Few  who  saw  Morton  Lacy  smile, 
forgot  it.  It  was  not  a  superficial  illumination,  but  a  flashing 
through  of  an  inward  light,  as  might  play  upon  the  surface  of  a 
gem-bedded  stream,  could  the  sun  strike  upon  its  concealed 
wealth. 

"  We  seldom  hear  a  sound  like  that,  in  this  age  of  affectation  /' 
said  he,  to  Josephine. 

"  She  will  learn  better/'  she  replied.     "  She  is  just  from  her 


ALONE.  131 

books,  and  rather  eccentric  in  some  of  her  ways  and  notions.  I 
rally  her  daily  upon  her  little  oddities,  but  she  is  wilful,  a? 
spoiled  children  will  be, — and  being  older,  and  more  clever  than 
myself,  out-argues  me.  The  main  point  of  disagreement  is  that 
she  is  fond  of  liberty  of  speech  and  action,  declares  Die  Vernon 
her  beau  ideal  of  a  woman,  and  I  am  prudish  in  my  reserve." 

"  Not  prudish — feminine  I"  he  answered,  emphatically.  « la 
she  a  relative  ?" 

"  No  :  a  ward  of  my  father's." 

"  An  orphan  !"  with  a  remorseful  pity,  for  which  Josephine 
could  have  blasted  Ida  as  she  sat. 

"  She  does  not  feel  her  situation  so  keenly  as  a  sensitive  person 
would.  Those  are  happiest  whose  wounds  heal  soonest, — to 
whom  a  life-time  grief  is  unknown.  I  am  thankful  that  Ida's 
temperament  is  mercurial — she  is  spared  much  suffering ;"  and 
her  voice  trembled  admirably,  as  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  a  portrait 
above  the  mantel.  Another  adroit  hit !  the  base  brought  out 
the  ring  of  the  genuine  metal. 

«  There  are,  indeed,  losses,  which,  in  an  earthly  sense,  are 
irreparable,  and  although  I  know  nothing  personally  of  such  a 
bereavement,  I  can  understand  that  the  shadow  of  a  mother's 
tonib  grows  darker  and  longer,  as  the  child  walks  on  in  the  path 
her  care  would  have  smoothed." 

"  Especially  to  an  orphaned  girl;  each  day  has  wants  and 
exigencies  she  had  not  thought  of  before.  Yet  who  knows  the 
pains  of  her  lot  ?"  said  Josephine,  sighing. 

"  'Few  are  the  hearts  whence  one  same  touch, 
Bids  the  sweet  fountains  flow !' " 

repeated  Mr.  Lacy.     "  Have  you  learned  that  song,  according 

to  promise  ?" 

"  I  always  keep  my  promises." 

"  May  I  demand  the  proof  that  this  one  was  remembered." 

The  piece  in  question  lay  suspiciously  near  the  top  of  the 

portfolio,  although  she  protested  that  she  had  "  only  played  it 

over  once,  and  a  fortnight  ago." 

"  It  is  set  as  a  duett ;  will  not  your  friend  sing  with  you  ?" 
"  I  don't  know;"  shaking  her  head,  smilingly.    «  She  is  chary 

of  her  favors — all  good  singers  are.    Perhaps  she  will  not  refuse 

you-^ask  her,  please  !     It  will  be  such  an  improvement !" 


182  ALONE. 

Thus  importuned,  Mr.  Lacy  went  up  to  Ida,  and  preferred  his 
request. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,  I  am  not  familiar  with  the  music ;"  said 
she,  surprised  that  Josephine  had  despatched  him  upon  such  an 
embassy,  when  her  jealousy  of  Ida's  superiority  as  a  vocalist, 
had  been  the  cause  of  innumerable  slights  and  petty  meannesses 
from  herself  and  father. 

"  Now  !  be  obliging,  Ida  !"  she  interposed,  "  you  sing  at  sight 
better  than  I  do,  after  a  year's  practising." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  appear  disobliging,  Mr.  Lacy;"  pursued  Ida; 
and  she  spoke  sincerely,  as  she  met  his  smile;  "but  you  would 
not  thank  me  for  ruining  your  song." 

"  Oh  !  how  can  you  say  so  !"  exclaimed  Josephine.  "  Mr. 
Dermott  called  you  a  second  Malibran  ;  or  was  it  Sappho  ?" 

To  Mr.  Lacy,  this  was  coaxingly  playful ;  but  the  fiery  spot 
came  to  Ida's  cheek,  at  words,  which  had  been  piped  over,  and 
distorted,  until  malice  itself  must  be  weary  of  repeating  them. 

"  I  beg  you  to  consider  my  refusal  as  final  and  positive ;"  she 
said,  haughtily.  Mr.  Lacy  bowed,  with  dignity,  and  returned 
to  Josephine. 

"Am  I,  also,  to  be  refused?"  asked  Lynn,  as  Josephine 
picked  out  a  third  song.  "  You  will  not  suspect  me  of  empty 
compliments." 

"Not  for  you,  will  I  sing  now  and  here!"  said  Ida.  "Be 
sure  I  have  my  reasons  for  objecting  to  give  you  pleasure." 

"  Be  quiet,  Lynn  !  she  means  what  she  says ;"  interrupted 
Charley,  as  his  friend  persisted.  Lynn  obeyed,  but  his  black 
eyes  went  from  the  face  of  the  speaker,  to  Ida's  compressed  lips, 
until  they  darted  an  angry  light  upon  Josephine,  showing  that 
he  had  an  inkling  of  the  truth. 

"  This  is  the  beginning!"  said  Ida,  as  she  knelt  at  her  window 
to  gain  tranquillity  from  the  cool  and  stillness  of  the  night.  The 
moon  neared  the  horizon ;  the  roof-tops  contrasted  brightly  with 
the  shade  of  the  street ;  and  one  lofty  spire  pointed  a  snowy 
finger  upward,  the  golden  trumpet  upon  its  taper  extremity 
silvered  by  the  pale  rays.  It  was  a  "  sweet  south"  that  bore  up 
the  lullaby  our  beautiful  river  sings  nightly  to  her  myriads  of 
sleeping  children;  but  as  the  girl  gazed  and  listened,  inquietude, 
instead  of  peace,  had  possession  of  her — the  nameless  longing 


ALONE.  133 

that  makes  mortals  weep  and  strive,  and  die  !  that  burning 
craving  for  something — they  cannot,  tell  what — except  that 
earth  does  not  bestow  it,  and  the  spirit  will  not  rest  without  it. 
It  may  be,  angel-teachers  are  with  us,  awakening  a  desire  for, 
rather  than  imparting  knowledge,  which  is  their  food,  and  can 
alone  satisfy  our  immortal  minds — or  our  young  souls  are  flut- 
tering their  unfledged  wings,  restless  for  the  flight,  instinct 
tells  them  is  before  them — we  know  not — only  that  the  thirst 
is  fierce — maddening !  and  there  is  but  one  fountain  which 
quenches  it.  The  river's  song  should  have  summoned  up  the 
vision  of  those  living  waters,  and  their  wooing,  "  Let  him  that 
is  athirst  come  I"  and  the  white  spire — had  its  silent  gesture  no 
significance  ? 

Ida's  thoughts  did  not  rise.  A  painful  truth  had  that  night 
obtruded  itself  upon  her,  that  the  love  of  those  she  esteemed 
most,  had  not  strengthened  her  to  bear  the  trials  incident  to 
her  position.  With  Carry  at  her  side,  to  defend  and  console, 
many  a  shaft  would  have  fallen  harmless,  perchance,  unre- 
marked; in  her  absence,  the  certainty  of  her  affection  did 
not  render  Josephine's  malevolence  innocuous,  or  her  society 
endurable. 

"  I  was  not  born  for  this  life  !  I  do  not  breathe  in  the  pent- 
house in  which  they  would  immure  my  soul.  I  cannot  escape  ! 
I  am  virtually  a  prisoner  in  body  and  spirit — with  energies, 
which  must  not  act — affections,  which  must  not  flow  !  I  thirst 
for  liberty  and  love !" 

Lower  and  lower  dipped  the  moon — and  higher  mounted  the 
shade  upon  the  steeple — the  golden  trumpet  was  glistenless  as 
the  rest,  and  the  stars  only  kept  guard  over  the  slumbering  city, 
and  the  watcher  knelt  still — dreaming  now  love-dreams  of  appre- 
ciation and  devotion — trances,  almost  realities  in  their  passionate 
idealization  \  and  then,  as  they  cloyed  by  their  very  sweetness — 
or  the  real  and  the  present  would  burst  upon  her,  crying  in 
anguished  accents,  « I  thirst  1" 
12 


134  ALONE. 


CHAPTER    XI]. 

JOSEPHINE  READ  gave  a  party — her  fir&t,  and  the  first  of 
the  season ;  an  onerous  undertaking  for  a  young,  and  compara- 
tively inexperienced  house-keeper ;  but  she  went  about  it  bravely 
and  confidently.  She  did  not  overrate  her  capacity ;  if  she  had  a 
talent  for  anything,  it  was  for  housewifery — "driving"  included. 
If  her  domestic  machinery  did  not  work  well,  it  was  not  for  lack 
of  scolding;  and,  it  was  rumored,  not  because  more  stringent 
measures  were  not  employed  by  her  own  fair  hands. 

"  Miss  Josephine  flies  about  the  kitchen  like  a  pea  'pon  a  hot 
shovel ;"  said  Rachel,  the  day  before  that  for  which  the  rest  of 
the  week  was  made.  "  It's  'sprising  how  much  spring  she's  got 
in  that  little  body  of  hern,  and  how  much  spite  too,  if  you'll 
'low  me  to  say  it,  Miss  Ida." 

"  I  certainly  shall  not,"  said  Ida,  severely.  "  I  do  not  care 
to  hear  your  remarks  upon  her  now,  or  at  any  time.  They  are 
neither  respectful  or  becoming." 

"  Law !  Miss  Ida  !  you  know  Miss  Josephine  as  well  as  I  do ; 
what  harm  does  my  talking  do  ?  I  was  goin'  to  tell  you,  that  I 
thought  I  should  a'  died  laughin'  to  see  how  mad  she  was,  when 
Joe  dropped  the  big  cake  she  sent  to  the  confectionaries  to  have 
iced.  Her  face  turned  red  as  them  curtains,  and  soon  as  she 
could  move,  she  pulled  off  her  shoe,  and  gave  him  such  a  lick 
;pon  the  side  of  his  head,  I'll  bound  he  seed  stars !" 

"  Are  your  preparations  concluded  ?"  asked  Mr.  Read,  that 
night. 

"  I  believe  so,  sir." 

"  <  You  believe  so !'  why  can't  you  give  a  direct  answer  ?  I 
hate  this  mincing  you  women  think  so  pretty.  Are  you  ready  I" 

"  The  table  is  not  set,"  said  Josephine,  provokingly,  "  and 
the  jellies  and  creams  are  not  turned  into  the  dishes  yet." 

«  What  will  this  tomfoolery  cost  ?"  barked  her  father. 

« I  don't  know,  sir — what  other  people's  parties  do." 

«  You  are  wonderfully  independent,  young  woman !  you  intend 
to  foot  the  bills  I  hope." 


ALONE.  135 

No  answer,  except  a  bar  of  a  popular  air,  hummed,  while 
trying  on  a  head-dress. 

"  Whom  have  you  invited  ?" 

"  There  is  the  list — you  can  read  it." 

He  looked  at  it  surlily.     "  How  many  rooms  do  you  open  ?" 

"  The  parlors  and  dining  room ; — unless  you  prefer  to  have 
the  dressing-rooms  in  the  third  story,  and  give  up  your  chamber 
to  the  dancers." 

«  Have  the  goodness  to  leave  me  out  of  the  scrape.  I  shall 
go  to  bed  directly  after  supper.  You  two  may  do  your  husband 
hunting  without  my  help.  I  pity  the  man  who  gets  either  of 
you." 

"  Since  you  are  so  much  opposed  to  this  party,  I  will  recall 
my  invitations  to-morrow  morning,"  retorted  Josephine,  irritated 
by  his  peevish  vulgarity,  to  take  a  high  stand  herself. 

"  You  will  not,  Miss!  Carry  out  what  you  have  commenced 
—much  joy  may  you  have  of  it !" 

What  pleasure  or  benefit  could  arise  from  this  snarling  con- 
tradiction, would  have  defied  a  wiser  brain  than  Ida's  to  deter- 
mine. She  once  imagined  it  a  part  of  Mr.  Read's  schooling ; 
that  he  sought  to  inure  his  pupil  to  the  treatment  she  would 
receive  from  the  world ;  but  this  impression  was  corrected  by 
observing  that  the  effrontery  he  had  taught  her  angered  him 
beyond  measure,  when  exhibited  towards  himself.  Variance 
appeared  to  be  necessary  to  their  existence ;  a  safety-valve,  foi 
the  ill  humors  they  could  not  throw  out  upon  others.  It  was  a 
curious  fact  that  their  going  into  company,  at  home  or  abroad, 
was  invaribly  preceded  by  this  moral  phlebotomizing,  and  in 
proportion  to  the  extent  of  the  depletion,  was  the  subsequent 
affability.  It  was  therefore  to  be  expected  that  they  should 
appear  in  the  drawing-room  on  the  evening  of  the  party,  looking 
their  best ; — she,  deferentially  respectful  to  "  Papa,"  and  he, 
marking  "  my  daughter,  sir's,"  motions  with  paternal  pride.  A 
large  party  usually  belongs  to  one  of  two  classes — the  stiffly 
regular,  or  the  noisily  irregular.  At  the  former,  there  is  con- 
siderably less  sociability  and  ease  than  is  prevalent  among  a 
corps  of  raw  recruits  upon  parade,  under  the  eye  of  a  martinet 
drilled  serjeant.  As  many  as  can  obtain  seats,  seize  them;  a 
vacant  chair  is  rushed  for,  as  in  the  game  of  "  budge-all,"  and 


136  ALONE. 

the  hapless  standers  are  awkwardly  alive  to  the  circumstance  of 
being,  not  men,  but  hands,  legs  and  feet;  white  kid  gloves  are 
at  a  premium,  a  bouquet  is  a  godsend  ; — the  pulling  off  and  on 
of  the  first,  and  the  criticism  of  the  latter,  are  engrossing  subjects 
of  reflection  and  entertainment.  There  are  knots  of  men  in  t;he 
entry,  and  in  the  corners,  and  behind  doors ;  and  rows  of  ladies 
against  the  wall,  and  stretched  out  transversely  and  longitudinally 
through  the  room.  Supper  over,  watches  are  slyly  consulted, 
yawns  dexterously  swallowed,  and  presently  the  crowd  is  thinner, 
though  no  one  goes.  Then  come  whispered  adieux ; — "  so  sorry 
to  quit  your  charming  party  at  this  early  hour, — but  papa 
charged  me  to  be  home  by  twelve,  and  he  is  so  particular ;"  and 
"  my  dear  Mrs.  Heavyaslead,  I  must  tear  myself  away — mamma 
was  not  well  to-night ;  I  am  quite  uneasy  about  her ;" — and 
there  are  headaches  and  sideaches,  and  toothaches,  until  the 
poor  hostess  wonders  that  she  never  suspected  before  what  an 
unhealthy  circle  of  acquaintances  she  has. 

At  a  gathering  of  the  second  class,  everybody  knows  every- 
body else,  or  gets  acquainted  off-hand,  with  or  without  an 
introduction.  The  company  are,  to  a  man,  in  favor  of  a  stand- 
ing army.  Except  a  small  number  of  chairs,  over  which  are 
carefully  trained  the  confirmed  wall-flowers,  seats  are  voted  in 
the  way; — each  joke  is  capital; — each  laugh  a  scream.  Girls 
rattle  and  coquet,  and  gentlemen  bow  and  flatter;  you  stumble 
upon  a  flirtation  at  every  step,  and  cannot  tread  upon  a  boot  or 
corn  without  cutting  a  gallant  speech  in  the  middle ;  time  pieces 
are  put  back  two  or  three  hours,  and  ostentatiously  showed 
around,  to  prove  that  there  is  time  enough  yet."  Morning 
breaks,  ere  the  revellers  unwillingly  depart,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Cricketspry  hear,  for  six  months  after,  of  the  "  splendid  time  we 
had  at  your  party." 

Miss  Read's  soiree  promised  to  be  of  the  first-named  order. — 
A  large  proportion  of  her  guests  were  strangers  to  each  other, 
and  she  had  not  the  tact  to  amalgamate  the  mixture.  A  hostess 
must  be  impartial;  the  safest  course  is  to  ignore  the  object  of 
her  preference,  even  at  the  risk  of  being  misunderstood ;  better 
offend  one,  than  an  hundred.  Josephine  made  no  such  heroic 
sacrifice.  She  had  invited  Mr.  Lacy ;  the  rest  were  there  to 
see,  and  they  were  not  backward  to  discern  this.  She  had  twice 


ALONE.  137 

made  the  circuit  of  the  rooms  upon  his  arm,  and  stood  for  half 
an  hour  between  the  folding-doors,  in  conversation,  that,  so  far 
as  her  efforts  went,  was  confidential,  when  her  father  touched 
her  shoulder.  "  Are  we  to  have  no  dancing,  Josey  ?" 

"If  my  friends  desire  it — certainly!  Mr.  Pemberton" — as 
that  individual  frisked  by, — "Do  me  the  favor  to  act  as  master 
of  ceremonies,  and  form  a  set." 

"  With  pleasure,  Miss  Josephine,  provided  I  am  honored  by 
your  hand — for  the  dance — I  mean  j"  tickled  to  excess  by  his 
witty  clause. 

The  hateful  puppy !  but  there  was  no  retreat.  Had  Mr.  Lacy 
been  out  of  earshot,  she  would  have  pleaded  an  engagement,  so 
certain  was  she  that  he  would  ask  her,  but  she  could  not  utter  so 
palpable  a  falsehood  in  his  hearing.  She  did  hope  that  he  would 
interfere,  and  with  the  inimitable  self-possession  which  distin- 
guished him,  open  an  avenue  of  escape  by  implying,  if  not 
asserting  his  right  of  priority ;  but  he  was  silent,  and  she  yielded 
an  ungracious  assent.  Mr.  Pemberton  was  a  boasted  adept  in 
the  art  of  "  cutting  out" — a  system  of  counter-plotting,  too  well 
understood  to  need  explanation  here ;  and  as  he  bustled  around, 
officious  and  fussy,  he  circulated,  as  the  latest  and  best  joke,"  an 
account  of  his  cunning  in  "  heading  off  that  chap,  Lacy." 

"  Are  you  fond  of  this  amusement?"  inquired  the  latter  of 
Josephine. 

"  Passionately  I"  said  she,  brightening  up  at  this,  as  she 
thought,  prefatory  remark.  The  next  was  still  more  promising. 

"  You  will  not  stop  at  a  single  set  then  ?" 

•  "  Oh,  no  !  I  often  keep  the  floor  for  hours.  It  is  a  health- 
ful and  innocent  exercise.  I  had  rather  dance  than  spend  the 
evening  in  gossiping  after  the  fashion  of  the  strait-laced  sort, 
who  are  conscientiously  opposed  to  '  wordly  follies.'  " 

Mr.  Lacy  smiled,  a  little  queerly.  It  was  evident  that  he 
agreed  with  her,  in  her  estimate  of  these  over-scrupulous  wor- 
thies. Still,  the  coveted  request  did  not  arrive,  and  she  tossed 
out  a  desperate  feeler. 

"  You  do  not  think  it  undignified  to  dance,  do  you  ?" 

"  Perhaps  if  I  were  to  state  why  I  never  participate  in  the 
pastime  you  laud  so  warmly,  you  would  accuse  me  of  an  unmanly 
fondness  for  a  dish  of  scandal." 
12* 


138  ALONE. 

What  did  he  say  ?  What  did  it  mean  ?  His  amusement 
increased  with  her  bewilderment,  and  before  an  explanation  could 
be  asked  or  given,  Mr.  Pemberton  took  her  hand. 

Ida  had,  thus  far,  passed  the  dullest  of  dull  evenings.  Lynn 
and  Charley,  who  never  let  her  suffer  for  attention  when  they 
were  by,  had  a  business  engagement  which  would  detain  them 
until  late ;  it  was  even  doubtful  if  they  could  come  at  all.  She 
talked  at  a  moustached,  be-whiskered,  and  be-imperialed  youth 
who  solicited  an  introduction,  because  he  had  heard  that  she  was 
"  smart,"  and  hoped  she  could  appreciate  him ;  his  conversa- 
tional talents  compensating  in  quality  for  their  deficiency  in 
quantity;  anybody  could  talk,  but  who  could  dress,  and  stand, 
and  look  as  he  did  ?  She  tried  to  draw  him  out  by  encouraging 
smiles,  and  well  put  queries — he  tugged  at  his  waistcoat — she 
rallied  him  upon  his  abstraction — he  stroked  his  left  whisker — 
she  pretended  offence  at  one  of  his  milk-and-water  responses — he 
performed  the  like  kindly  office  to  the  right — and  she  gave  up 
in  despair. 

Mr.  De  Langue  was  next.  "  He  was  "  smart"  himself,  and 
therefore  could  appreciate  her,  and  to  prove  this,  he  rolled  forth 
volume  after  volume  of  French  compliments,  unanswerable, 
because  so  highly  polished  that  one  could  not,  as  it  were,  take 
hold  of  them; — edified  her  by  disquisitions  upon  subjects  of 
which  she  was  profoundly  ignorant,  and  information  respecting 
others,  of  which  she  knew  more  than  himself.  After  much 
manoeuvring  she  sought  refuge  in  a  corner,  fatigued,  disgusted 
and  misanthropical.  "I  have  thought  that  I  might  shine  in 
general  company,  where  feeling  never  enters,  and  flaring  flip- 
pancy passes  for  wit;  it  seemed  easy  to  manufacture  small-talk, 
but  I  was  mistaken.  This  is  '  rational  recreation  !'  the  pleasure 
of  mingling  in  <the  best  society/  as  Josephine  says.  I  envy  St. 
Simon  in  his  twenty  years'  solitude  upon  his  stone  pillar." 

"  Compton,  my  dear  fellow,  can  you  make  room  for  me  to 
pass  ?"  said  a  voice  near  her.  "If  I  were  a  lady,  I  would  faint, 
and  let  you  extricate  me,  as  I  am  not,  I  must  fight  my  way 
out." 

The  gentleman  addressed  exerted  his  powers  of  compression, 
and  Mr.  Lacy  edged  by  him.  His  course  was  towards  the  door, 
but  he  stopped  as  he  espied  Ida  "  Miss  Ross,  have  you  a 


ALONE.  139 

welcome  in  your  «  Retreat'  for  a  storm-tossed  wanderer?  Your 
quiet  nook  is  most  inviting." 

Ida  looked  up  mischievously.  "  I  will  not  hinder  your  flight, 
Mr.  Lacy.  Your  envy  of  my  corner  is  wasted  upon  one  who 
heard  you  singing  a  moment  since,  like  the  melancholy  starling, 
1  I  can't  get  out !  I  can't  get  out !'  " 

"  I  plead  guilty — but  if  a  mightier  temptation  has  mastered 
my  desire  for  liberty  ?  There  are  birds  that  will  not  fly  after 
the  cage  door  is  unfastened." 

"  They  do  not  merit  freedom,"  said  she. 

"  Be  it  so — this  is  my  prison,"  rejoined  the  gentleman,  seat- 
ing himself  upon  an  ottoman  which  Josephine,  to  get  out  of  the 
way,  had  wedged  behind  the  door,  thinking  as  she  did  so,  that  it 
might  prevent  the  pressure  of  the  crowd  from,  breaking  the 
hinges,  with  not  a  presentiment  that  she  was  furnishing  a  hiding- 
place  for  the  last  one  of  all  the  world  whom  she  would  have  con- 
cealed. 

a  Now,"  continued  he,  "  as  I  can  see  but  one,  I  recognise  but 
one  jailor,  and  you  will  be  merciful,  remembering  my  voluntary 
incarceration.  And  as  a  starting-point  to  the  conversation,  why 
are  you  not  in  the  other  room  ?" 

"  For  the  simple  reason  that  no  one  has  invited  me  to  dance." 

He  looked  surprised,  yet  pleased  at  her  frankness.  "  You 
would  go,  if  you  received  an  invitation  ?" 

«  That  would  depend  upon  circumstances.  I  should  assuredly 
decline  one  from  you." 

"  And  why  ?" 

<•'  I  would  not  accept  of  anything  offered  in  obedience  to  what 
the  one  who  tendered  it  considered  a  hint.  How  I  might  act  if 
I  were  a  devotee  of  Terpsichore,  I  do  not  know,  but  a  conversa- 
zione is  more  attractive  to  me  than  a  ball." 

"  We  shall  not  quarrel  there,  and  it  is  well  that  we  agree  in 
disagreeing  with  the  general  sentiment.  Taught  by  the  experi- 
ence gained  in  our  short  acquaintance,  I  should  prefer  a  petition 
with  a  quaking  heart." 

"  You  need  not  apprehend  a  refusal,  provided  your  demand  is 
reasonable  and  properly  timed,"  answered  Ida. 

"  Which  of  these  provisoes  was  wan  ting  to  ensure  the  success 
of  the  suit  you  negatived,  upon  the  evening  of  our  introduction?" 


140  ALONE. 

"  Both,"  she  returned,  laughing.  "  You  insisted  that  1 
should  sing,  at  sight,  a  song  already  dear  to  you,  and  I  declined 
to  spoil  the  music,  and  wreck  my  musical  reputation  with  a 
stranger,  from  whose  mind  I  might  never  have  an  opportunity 
of  removing  the  unfortunate  opinion." 

"  In  contrariety  to  these  considerations,  were  the  wish  to 
oblige  me,  and  a  dislike  to  wound  the  feelings  of  your  friend, 
Miss  Josephine,  and  this  scale  kicked  the  beam  ?"  said  Mr.  Lacy, 
interrogatively. 

"  No  j  Josephine  was  out  of  the  question  j  she  did  not  expect 
me  to  comply.  "We  never  sing  together — or  very  rarely.  My 
voice  is  not  a  contralto,  nor  does  it  accord  with  her's.  You  will 
have  to  be  content  with  my  explanation ;  I  speak  truth  in  the 
smallest  matters." 

"  The  false  in  trifles  are  seldom  reliable  in  things  of  greater 
moment,"  replied  the  other.  "There  is  less  deliberate,  mali- 
cious falsehood  in  the  world  than  we  suppose.  Men  are  oftener 
liars  from  habit,  than  from  necessity  or  temptation." 

"  But  to  this  habit  there  must  be  a  beginning.  Is  there  no 
sin  in  the  earliest  deviation  from  the  right  way  ?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that  there  is  not  sin  in  every  violation  of  truth. 
Each  one  is  a  stain  upon  the  soul — blots,  that  too  frequently 
deface  it  forever;  but  I  do  not  subscribe  to  the  casuistry  that 
guages  the  guilt  of  a  lie  entirely  by  its  effects  upon  others — which 
smiles  upon,  as  a  harmless  simpleton,  him  who  'fibs'  or  'yarns' 
or  'embroiders'  in  cowardice  or  vanity,  and  empties  the  vials  of 
wrath  upon  the  Pariah,  who  seeks,  by  one  heaven-daring  false- 
hood, to  save  what  he  holds  most  dear.  One  destroys  the  mirrror 
by  gradually  damaging  its  bright  surface,  the  other  shivers  it  at 
one  reckless  blow." 

"  This  has  often  struck  me,"  said  Ida.  "  It  appears  to  me 
that  the  slower  process  deadens  the  conscience  most  surely,  and 
the  insensibility  of  those  who  practice  it,  betrays  a  more  diseased 
state  of  the  moral  system  than  the  pangs  of  remorse." 

"Undoubtedly;  and  this  should  make  us  doubly  watchful 
against  any  infringement  of  veracity.  The  straightest,  the  only 
safe  road  is  'the  truth — the  whole  truth — and  nothing  but  the 
truth.'  " 

"And  who  adheres  to  this  rule?"  asked  Ida.  "How  much 
truth,  do  you  imagine,  is  being  uttered  now  in  these  rooms  ?" 


ALONE.  141 

"We  are  discoursing  very  philosophically,  and  will  be  chari- 
table enough  to  believe  that  numerous  couples  are  similarly 
engaged." 

"  Do  you  recollect  Talleyrand's  definition  of  speech?"  inquired 
Ida. 

" '  A  faculty  whereby  we  conceal  our  thoughts' — yes — a  sen- 
tence worthy  of  its  author.  What  a  life  this  would  be  if  we 
were  all  Talieyrands  I" 

"  We  are — according  to  our  capacities/'  said  Ida. 

"A  singular  sentiment  for  one  of  your  age  and  sex!"  replied 
Mr.  Lacy,  with  a  searching  look.  «  Has  the  world  served  you 
so  unkindly,  that  you  condemn  your  kind  without  reservation  ?" 

"  There  was  a  mental  reservation ;  yet  my  observation  was 
true  in  a  general  sense.  Men  live  for-  themselves ; — it  is  humi- 
liating to  see  how  this  principle  regulates  feeling  and  action. 
We  love  our  friends  because  they  are  ours ; — the  pronoun  '  my' 
expresses  a  nearness  and  sweetness  which  causes  us  to  idolize  the 
thing  we  appropriate; — <my  own'  is  the  most  endearing  of  appel- 
lations— what  is  the  delight  it  inspires,  but  the  grossest  vanity 
and  selfishness?" 

"  Pardon  me,  that  I  differ  with  you.  Our  love  is  won  by  the 
qualities  of  its  object; — there  would  be  no  pleasure  in  appropria- 
tion were  not  our  affections  enlisted ; — no  thrill  of  joy  in  identify- 
ing with  ourselves,  the  unknown  or  unlovely; — if  forced  upon  us, 
dislike  would  ensue.  We  become  attached  to  our  dear  ones  for 
their  own  sakes;  although  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  a  knowledge 
of  a  reciprocation  of  affection  is  an  auxiliary  to  the  growth  of 
that  fondness." 

"And  do  you  honestly  credit  the  disinterestedness  of  human 
nature  ?" 

"  I  do — in  many  instances,  and  so  do  you.  Look  at  the  bene- 
factors of  mankind — a  Howard,  preferring  the  noisome  prison-cell 
to  competence  and  home ; — a  Wilberforce,  spending  and  spent  in 
the  great  work ; — the  missionaries  of  the  cross,  at  this  moment 
scattered  in  all  lands,  cut  off  from  friends  and  civilization,  without 
prospect  of  emolument  or  renown ;  forgotten,  it  may  be,  by  all 
but  Him,  in  whose  strength  they  labor;  where  is  the  self-interest 
in  this?" 

"  Your  last  is  a  puzzling  case.     The  theory  I  have  advanced, 


142  ALONE. 

perhaps  too  boldly,  was  not  of  my  own  choosing.  I  was  com- 
pelled to  its  adoption  by  evidence  which  seemed  incontestable, 
and  I  retain  it  because  it  solves  more  riddles  in  the  complex 
machinery  of  society  than  any  other  I  have  heard.  But  it  has 
its  difficulties,  and  the  main  one  is  such  conduct  as  you  allude 
to.  There  is  a  key  to  the  enigma,  I  suppose,  if  I  could  only 
find  it." 

"There  is,"  said  Mr.  Lacy,  feelingly.  "There  is  a  love  which 
purifies  the  rest,  a  peace  we  would  have  all  men  know.  They 
err,  who  say  that  devotion  to  God  weans  the  heart  from  our 
friends.  Our  Divine  Master  has  left  us  a  new  commandment — 
'that  we  love  one  another/  and  with  the  increase  of  our  love  for 
Him,  our  souls  enlarge,  until  the  arms  of  brotherly  kindness 
embrace  the  universal  family  of  mankind.  There  is  no  such 
being  as  a  selfish  Christian." 

Ida  listened  in  amazement.  This  language  was  uncommon  at 
any  time  and  place  out  of  the  pulpit,  but  from  an  elegant  and 
popular  young  man,  it  was  novel  in  the  extreme. 

"I  can  hardly  understand  the  workings  of  a  principle,  which 
is  itself  a  mystery,"  she  said.  "Time  was  when  religion  was  a 
household  word  to  me,  but  exposure  to  adverse  influences  has 
erased  from  my  mind  all  knowledge  of  this  kind,  if  I  ever  had 
any  understanding  of  its  meaning." 

"  You  have  the  instruction  of  the  immortal  spirit  within  you. 
Is  that  satisfied  with  its  fare  ?  Are  you  content  with  yourself 
and  your  mode  of  life  ?" 

"  Content  I"     The  tone  was  a  sufficient  reply. 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  use  the  freedom  of  a  friend,  Miss  Ross, 
and  show  you  that  in  neglecting  this  subject  you  shut  your  eyes 
to  the  only  true  happiness?  I  know  that  the  lot  which  appears 
brightest  is  checkered  with  vicissitudes — inward  struggles,  more 
trying  than  many  visible  afflictions.  Against  these,  neither  the 
spirits  of  youth  nor  the  reasonings  of  philosophy  can  always  pre- 
vail. I  know  how  the  lip  smiles  and  the  heart  bleeds,  although 
the  anguish  within  does  not  drown  the  gay  words  upon  the 
tongue.  We  may — we  do  conceal,  but  the  sting  rankles  the 
same.  Our  Father  never  designed  that  we  should  be  happy 
away  from  Him.  These  misgivings,  this  discontent  with  our- 
selves, and  pinings  for  something  better  and  higher,  are  voices 


ALONE.  143 

beseeching  us  to  partake  of  his  love;  they  are  the  homesickness 
of  a  child,  who  has  strayed,  and  has  forgotten  in  new  scenes  the 
parent  he  has  deserted,  and  the  sight  of  a  flower,  a  hreath  of 
warm  air,  a  song  he  used  to  love,  calls  up  the  remembrance  of 
that  father,  and  a  gush  of  shame  and  longing  he  is  too  proud  to 
confess.  Thus  much  all  feel,  but  upon  some  fall  heavier  trials. 
Earth  has  no  cure  for  the  woes  which  a  residence  here  entails 
upon  us.  Young  as  you  are  you  may  know  this?" 


"  Is  what  I  am  saying  disagreeable  to  you  ?" 

"No,  sir;  —  go  on,  if  you  please  !" 

"Then,  if  we  are  told  of  One,  who  cannot  only  comfort, 
but  convert  distress  into  blessing;  of  whose  loving  protection 
nothing  can  deprive  us  ;  who  will  make  this  life  tolerable  —  nay, 
pleasant,  and  assure  us  of  an  eternity  of  bliss  to  be  shared  with 
Him,  —  is  it  not  the  maddest  folly  to  refuse  the  pledge  He  asks 
in  return  —  a  child's  love  and  trust  ?" 

"  I  do  not  feel  that  I  have  acted  thus  I"  said  Ida,  suddenly. 
"  My  reason  assents  to  what  you  have  said,  but  my  conscience 
is  dumb.  The  thought  of  a  God  —  Almighty  and  Holy  —  over- 
whelms me  with  awe  —  sometimes  -with  terror.  As  Kuler  and 
Judge,  I  pay  him  homage,  and  obey,  when  I  can,  the  letter  of 
His  law  ;  —  but  He  does  not  care  particularly  for  me  —  one  of 
the  most  obscure  of  His  countless  subjects.  I  believe  that  He 
is  a  tender  Father  to  the  favored  ones  who  have  tasted  His 
grace,  and  they  ought  to  adore  and  love.  I  thank  Him,  from 
afar  off,  for  preservation  —  not  for  creation  —  and  he  does  not  call 
me  nearer.  You  think  me  very  wicked,  Mr.  Lacy  ;  —  but  as  I 
said,  if  I  speak  at  all,  I  speak  candidly." 

"I  like  your  truthfulness.  You  express  what  others  secretly 
feel  ;  this  distant  respect  is  the  natural  tone  of  an  enlightened 
mind,  wedded  to  an  unregenerate  heart;  and  in  your  remarks, 
I  detect  the  bitterness  which  is  its  concomitant,  —  amounting,  in 
some,  to  deadly  enmity  against  their  Maker  and  Redeemer. 
Do  you  read  the  Bible  —  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  Yes  —  occasionally." 

"  From  what  motive  ?" 

"I  read  it  as  a  curiosity  in  literature  —  but  that  is  not  the 
principal  reason"  — 


144  ALONE. 

"  Excuse  me, — I  had  no  right  to  put  the  question.  I  wished 
to  know  if  you  had  noticed  one  or  two  passages — such  as — 'All 
day  long  I  have  stretched  forth  my  hands  unto  a  disobedient  and 
gainsaying  people.'  '  When  I  called  ye  did  not  answer — when 
I  spake,  ye  did  not  hear.'  '  0  Israel !  thou  hast  destroyed  thy- 
self, but  in  me  is  thy  hope  !'  There  is  scarcely  a  page  which 
does  not  bear  some  moving  expostulation  or  entreaty ;  and  the 
disciple  who  knew  Him  best,  condenses  in  one  celestial  drop 
the  stream  of  revelation,  '  GOD  is  LOVE  !'  Not  a  word  of  Power 
or  Justice  !  We  cannot  exaggerate  these  attributes,  but  we 
may  dwell  upon  them,  to  the  exclusion  of  His  long-suffering 
and  loving  kindness." 

"You  have  a  strange  way  of  speaking  of  these  matters;" 
said  Ida.  "  I  am  acquainted  with  a  number  of  excellent  Chris- 
tians, who  never  refer  to  the  name  by  which  they  are  called, 
but  at  long  intervals,  in  set  terms,  and  in  a  tone  which  frightens 
the  f  sinners'  to  whom  they  address  their  exhortations.  I  have 
been  troubled  whether  to  question  their  sincerity,  or  the  Faith, 
which  they  assert,  controls  them." 

»  Doubt  neither  Ascribe  their  silence  to  diffidence,  or  a 
fear  of  giving  offence ;  their  unhappy  manner,  to  ignorance  of 
the  proper  method  of  managing  hearts.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  the  one  Reality  upon  the  globe  should  be  banished  from 
familiar  conversation.  If  a  man  is  sleeping  upon  the  sea-shore, 
the  big  waves  washing  his  pillow  at  each  surge,  am  I  censurable 
if  I  end  his  happy  slumbers?  Or,  to  employ  an  illustration 
which  suits  me  better — I  have  a  dear  friend,  to  whom  you  are  a 
stranger.  With  my  esteem  for  you,  will  not  my  desire  to  bring 
you  together,  grow  stronger  ?  When  I  discover  traits  in  you 
which  he  would  approve,  will  not  I  tell  you  of  him,  and  use 
every  means  to  facilitate  an  acquaintance,  so  pleasant  and  profit- 
able ?  Especially,  if  a  time  is  certainly  coming,  when  you  will 
require  his  assistance  ; — an  emergency  is  to  overtake  you,  when 
all  help  but  his  will  be  vain — does  it  not  become  my  imperative 
duty  to  implore  you  to  accept  the  friendship  he  stands  ready  to 
bestow  ?" 

"  Do  not  the  Scriptures  speak  of  the  veil  that  is  upon  their 
hearts  ?"  said  Ida. 

"  Yes — but  it  is  the  veil  of  unbelief.     If  we  do  not  of  our- 


A  L  0  N  E .  145 

selves  endeavour  to  tear  it  away,  the  light  which  streams  upon 
us,  at  its  removal,  may  be  too  late.  God  does  not  need,  but 
He  demands  our  co-operation  in  His  schemes  for  our  salvation. 
There  is  our  friend,  Charley  Dana ;  he  is  late  for  a  gentleman 
of  his  punctual  habits." 

The  conversation  changed.  Ida  would  gladly  have  heard 
more  of  a  topic,  so  unusual,  and  previously  so  unpleasing,  but  he 
dropped  it,  and  she  did  not  oppose  him.  The  manner,  more 
than  the  matter  of  his  language,  took  her  fancy.  He  did  not 
arrogate  superiority  of  sense  or  goodness,  and  had  none  of  the 
stereotyped  cant  she  dreaded;  he  did  not  preach,  but  talked, 
easily  and  quietly;  most  of  the  time,  with  the  smile  she 
thought  so  beautiful,  and  she  observed  his  avoidance  of  "  you" 
and  "  I," — substituting,  when  it  could  be  done — "  we"  and 
< '  us,"  as  if  to  lay  a  platform  of  perfect  equality.  If  he  had 
intended  to  leave  the  room,  when  he  fell  in  with  her,  he  altered 
his  purpose.  Charley  and  Lynn  paid  their  respects,  chatted 
awhile,  and  went  their  ways; — the  former  to  dance  and  jest 
with  divers  merry  belles,  who  hailed  his  approach,  a  relief  from 
the  very  minor  flats,  upon  which  they  had  been  playing,  during 
the  tedious  hours  in  the  halls,  which  were  not  "  halls  of  mirth." 
Lynn  sought  Ellen  Morris  ;  and  if  Ida  had  seen  the  scarlet  stain 
that  suffused  her  cheeks,  as  she  perceived  him,  she  would  have 
had  "  confirmation  strong"  of  a  suspicion  entertained  from  the 
first  time  she  had  beheld  them  together.  Mr.  Lacy  withstood  his 
jailor's  offers  of  liberation.  "If  she  were  inclined  to  change 
her  place,  or  to  promenade,  he  was  at  her  service,  but  no  altera- 
tion could  better  his  condition ;"  and  Ida's  fears  of  detaining 
him,  being  dissipated  by  this  straight-forward  avowal,  she 
abandoned  herself  to  the  enjoyment  of  communion  with  a  noble 
intellect  and  finely-attuned  spirit.  The  announcement  of  supper, 
the  tocsin  of  liberty  to  a  majority  of  -the  company,  interrupted 
their  lively  dialogue. 

Long  before  this,  Josephine's  eyes  had  raked  the  parlours  from 
wall  to  wall,  and  she  was  fully  satisfied,  or  ^'s-satisfied  that  her 
polar  star  was  missing. 

In  the  sickness  of  the  disappointment,  she  hated  the  show  of 
pleasure  going  on  about  her  :  the  most  fagged-out  of  the  chape- 
ron wall-flowers  did  not  wish  for  the  hour  of  separation  more 

1O 


146  ALONE. 

ardently  than  did  she.  There  was  one  streak  of  light  upon  the 
cloud ; — no  society  could  recompense  him  for  parting  with  hers, 
and  he  had  departed  in  consequence  :  but  she  could  have  bitten 
her  tongue  off,  as  she  deplored  her  injudicious  declaration 
(untrue  too  !)  of  devotion  to  an  amusement,  for  which  she  cared 
nothing.  "Was  ever  girl  so  impolitic  ?  What  if  he  were  him- 
self one  of  this  "  religious  sort  ?"  the  bare  supposition  was 
distracting  !  she  had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin  ! 

"  What  have  you  done  with  Mr.  Lacy  ?"  queried  one  and 
another,  and  a  ready  untruth  answered,  "  He  had  an  engage- 
ment, which  obliged  him  to  go  early."  Charley  overheard  one 
repetition  of  this  excuse  ;  but  although  his  eyes  wandered,  with 
a  comical  roll,  towards  the  retreat  of  the  recusant,  he  kept  his 
own  counsel.  By  supper-time,  she  was  so  convinced  of  the 
truth  of  her  fabrication,  that  she  neglected  to  institute  a  search 
which  would  have  showed  her  Mr.  Lacy  and  Ida,  at  the  farthest 
end  of  the  table.  Twice  again,  she  could  have  been  blessed  by 
a  sight  of  him.  Charley  having  invited  Ida  to  a  promenade  in 
the  hall,  Mr.  Lacy  bethought  him  of  his  fair  and  partial  hostess ; 
but  she  was  not  to  be  found.  She  was  lying  upon  the  bed  in 
her  chamber, fretting  over  her  "foolishness,"  and  the  "stupidity 
and  worry"  of  all  parties, — hers  in  particular.  Smoothing  her 
face  and  ringlets,  she  regained  the  parlor  by  one  door,  as  Morton 
left  it  by  another.  He  encountered  Ida  and  Charley,  and 
walked  with  them  until  the  carriages  came  to  the  door.  Jose- 
phine accompanied  several  of  her  most  fashionable  guests  to 
the  dressing-room ;  and  Mr.  Lacy,  seeing  there  was  no  one  to 
receive  his  conge",  made  none. 

The  day  after  !  Mr.  Head  was  growling  and  headachy; — Jose- 
phine in  her  worst  humor,  and  itching  to  vent  it.  The  breakfast 
hour  was  enlivened  by  a  continual  peppering  of  small  shot  from 
her,  varied  by  a  big  gun  from  her  father.  He  sneered  at  her 
arrangements  and  company,  saying  much  that  was  cuttingly 
true,  more,  really,  than  he  was  aware  of;  and  she  pecked  at  him 
and  the  servants.  In  spite  of  her  dislike,  Ida  pitied  her,  as  she 
surveyed  the  heaps  of  unwashed  dishes  and  glasses ;  the  carpets, 
spotted  with  wine, — cake  and  jelly  trampled  into  their  velvet ; 
and  the  forlorn  disorder  that  reigned  over  all.  She  was  on  the 
point  of  offering  her  assistance,  when  Josephine  brushed  by  her, 


ALONE.  117 

with  a  peremptory  order  to  "  folks  who  were  cluttering  up  the 
room,  to  be  off,  if  they  did  not  mean  to  work  I"  Herself,  the 
cat  and  the  footman,  who  was  collecting  the  remains  of  the  feast, 
comprising  the  auditory,  Ida  thought  herself  justifiable  in  taking 
a  share  of  the  hint. 

She  sent  Eachel  down  in  her  place,  enjoining  upon  her,  as  a 
prudential  measure,  not  to  speak,  unless  when  asked  a  direct 
question. 

As  to  Ida,  the  close  of  her  evening  had  more  than  compensated 
for  the  ennui  of  the  beginning ;  she  had  no  foiled  stratagems,  no 
tangled  snares  to  lament;  yet  the  dissipation  produced  a 'nervous 
languor,  tempting,  yet  dissuading  her  from  action.  She  read — 
and  the  letters  danced  cotillions  and  waltzes  over  the  page.  The 
piano  was  in  the  parlor — but  so  was  Josephine.  She  essayed  to 
sew,  and  stitched  up  a  seam  wrong  side  out,  and  ran  the  point 
of  the  needle  under  her  finger  nail. 

"  I  must  walk — I  have  it !  Mrs.  Dana  will  like  to  hear  about 
the  party,  and  there  is  Elle's  doll's  hat." 

Her  gloves  were  in  a  bureau  drawer,  and  near  them  lay  a 
velvet  case,  enclosing  the  miniature  of  her  parents— excellent 
likenesses,  but  owing  to  some  oversight  in  mixing,  or  in  the 
quality  of  the  colors,  they  were  fading  already.  She  had  signi- 
fied to  Mr.  Read  her  intention  to  have  them  copied,  before  they 
should  be  so  much  defaced  as  to  render  it  impracticable ;  why 
not  give  them  to  Lynn  ?  His  ability  was  uncontrovertible — it 
would  be  a  kindness  to  him  now,  in  the  outset  of  his  professional 
career ;  and  she  had  the  vanity  to  believe  that  he  would  bestow 
double  pains  upon  what  she  so  valued.  She  would  carry  them 
to  Mrs.  Dana,  and  ask  her  advice. 

That  lady  was  in  her  nursery,  which  was  one  of  Ida's  accus- 
tomed haunts.  She  was  at  home  at  once ;  tossing  the  babe,  and 
joining  her  voice  to  its  chuckling  laugh,  until  the  room  rang 
again ;  Charley  hanging  upon  her  dress  to  entreat  her  praises  of 
his  hobby-horse ;  and  Elle  waiting  patiently  to  kiss  her  for  the 
"  sweet  bonnet  that  just  fitted  Dolly." 

"  You  have  come  to  stay  a  good  long  time  with  me,  I  know," 
said.  Mrs.  Dana.  "  Here  is  a  note  I  was  about  to  send  to  you, 
requesting  the  pleasure  of  your  company  to  dinner.  I  thought 
you  had  rather  be  out  of  the  way  while  Miss  Josephine  is  ( clean- 


148  ALONE. 

ing  up,'  and  to  be  candid,  Mr.  Dana  has  invited  two  or  three 
gentlemen  to  dine  with  us,  and  I  am  too  bashful  to  face  them 
unsupported.  I  did  not  write  this,  lest  you  should  have  scruples 
on  the  subject,  but  you  must  stay  for  my  sake  and  John's.  He 
made  it  a  point  that  you  should  be  asked.  Do  you  know  I  am 
getting  jealous  ?" 

"  But  indeed,  my  dear  madam" — 

"  But  indeed,  my  dear  miss,  you  will  remove  your  bonnet 
immediately." 

Resistance  was  useless;  nor  would  Ida  have  offered  it,  had 
she  been  sure  of  meeting  only  the  family;  for  the  sun  shone 
more  brightly  into  this  home-nest  of  cheerful  peace,  than  into  the 
abode  she  had  lately  quitted.  The  Danas  knew  enough  of  Mr. 
Read  and  Josephine,  to  make  them  solicitous  to  withdraw  Ida 
as  much  from  their  influence  as  was  consistent  with  her  duty  as 
a  ward.  She  never  complained,  except  to  Carry,  but  they 
respected  her  the  more  for  her  prudence. 

"  You  will  spoil  me,"  said  she,  as  Mrs.  Dana  untied  her 
bonnet 

"  No  danger,"  replied  the  lady,  kissing  her  forehead — Carry's 
caress — and  as  other  lips  did,  years  ago.  Tears  stood  in  the 
orphan's  eyes,  but  they  did  not  fall.  Elle  wondered  why  cousin 
Ida  could  not  see  her  doll's  cloak  without  holding  her  head  &- 
near  to  it. 

Mrs.  Dana  approved  entirely  of  her  project. 

"  Will  you  take  them  to  him  this  morning?"  inquired  she. 

« I  certainly  had  such  a  notion,  but  I  do  not  like  to  go  without 
you,  and  as  you  are  expecting  company" — 

"  No  time  like  the  present,  my  dear.  My  dinner  is  in  the 
hands  of  the  cook ;  I  shall  not  be  wanted  here  for  two  hours.  It 
is  a  lovely  day,  and  I  am  glad  of  an  errand  that  affords  an  excuse 
to  go  out." 

As  they  were  passing  "  Dana  &  Co.'s"  she  halted. 

tf  Had  we  not  better  ask  Mr.  Dana  to  pilot  us  ?  I  am  uncer- 
tain of  the  exact  locality  of  this  same  studio." 

Mr.  Dana  could  not  go ;  he  was  waiting  upon  a  country  cus- 
tomer with  a  memorandum  as  long  as  his  arm ;  but  he  conducted 
the  ladies  into  the  counting-room.  Charley  was  there,  at  a  tall 
desk,  buried  in  ledgers  and  filed  bills ;  and  so  business-like,  that 


ALONE.  149 

Ida  hung  back  upon  the  threshold — a  fear,  of  which  she  was 
ashamed,  as  he  extended  both  hands  to  her,  thanked  them  for 
their  visit,  and  offered  to  escort  them.  He  unlocked  his  bache- 
lor's pantry  of  crackers,  cheese  and  choice  Madeira,  hospitality 
which  they  civilly  declined.  Mr.  Dana  left  the  counter  "to  hope 
that  he  should  see  Miss  Ida  at  dinner ;"  a  courtesy  which  was  a 
a  sign  of  esteem  and  favor  from  one  of  his  reticent  disposition. 

Lynn's  studio  was  a  small,  but  exquisitely  appointed  room. 
It  was  a  minute  before  the  eyes,  used  to  the  out-door  light,  could 
penetrate  the  claro-obscuro  of  its  twilight. 

Ida  knew  Lynn  by  his  voice,  and  pressure  of  her  hand,  then 
a  tarller  figure  was  developed  to  her  vision,  and  she  recognised 
Mr.  Lacy. 

"Are  you  engaged,  Mr.  Holmes?"  asked  Mrs.  Dana. 

"No,  madam;  Mr.  Lacy  has  just  concluded  a  sitting — the 
last.  Your  coming  is  opportune,  you  can  criticise  his  portrait." 

The  voice  was  unanimous.  It  was  a  masterly  painting,  and 
faithful  to  life. 

"  A  personable  individual  too,  Morton — considering — "  said 
Charley.  "Did  .you  have  it  painted  for  a  sign-board  ?  "  Morton 
Lacy,  attorney  at  law, — For  recommendations,  see  heading  of 
this  article.'  What  a  multitude  of  lady-clients  you  would 
have  1" 

"  It  is  for  a  lady  who  will  not  part  with  it,  even  to  procure 
me  a  press  of  clients — for  my  mother,"  returned  Mr.  Lacy. 
"  She  will  feel  herself  to  be  under  great  obligations  to  you,  Mr. 
Holmes,  for  so  truthful  a  transcript  of  her  <  absent  boy.'  " 

Ida  looked  at  the  original  instead  of  the  picture.  It  was,  then, 
the  handsomer  of  the  two.  With  a  complimentary  observation 
of  the  workmanship,  he  dismissed  the  subject,  and  directed  Ida 
to  a  genuine  Claude,  Lynn's  pride  and  boast.  She  slipped  her 
case  into  Mrs.  Dana's  hand,  and  followed  him.  Lynn  presently 
approached. 

"  It  would  be  an  idle  form  to  say  that  I  am  honoured  by  your 
application,"  said  he.  "  Your  heart  will  tell  you  how  I  esteem 
this  proof  of  your  friendship.  It  is  a  sacred  trust,  and  as  such 
I  will  fulfil  it." 

"  I  feared  you  would  discourage  me,"  replied  Ida.  "  Is  it  not 
difficult  to  take  a  picture,  the  size  of  life,  from  a  miniature  ?'; 


150  ALONE. 

"  It  requires  care,  and  a  just  regard  to  proportions;  but  I  have 
an  assurance  of  success  in  my  willingness  to  attempt  the  work. 
I  hope — I  know  I  shall  not  fail.  Now,  what  shall  I  do  to  enter- 
tain you  ?  I  am  so  unused  to  morning  calls  from  ladies — and 
such  ladies  !  that  I  am  at  a  loss  how  to  bear  my  honors." 

"  Where  are  those  long-promised  portfolios  ?n  said  Ida.  "  W« 
could  not  desire  a  more  acceptable  treat." 

The  hour  consumed  in  the  examination  of  the  artist's  pictured 
treasures,  was,  to  Ida,  one  of  unalloyed  delight.  There  might 
yet  be  diamonds  in  the  pebbly  sands  of  Richmond.  Coke 
loomed  up  threateningly  before  Mr.  Lacy  ;  and  Charley  and 
Mrs.  Dana  felt  some  conscience-prickings,  at  the  thought  of  Day- 
books and  desserts ;  but  they  did  not  offer  to  stir  until  Lynn 
affirmed  that  he  had  nothing  more  to  show. 

"  There  are  good  points  in  this  working-day  life  of  ours,  are 
there  not  ?"  said  Charley,  as  they  went  down  the  steps. 

"Just  my  sentiments!"  answered  Mr.  Lacy.  "Yet  Mr. 
Holmes  is  a  dangerous  citizen.  He  has  beguiled  an  unsuspecting 
youth  out  of  two  hours  of  study.  This  is  my  apology  for  leaving 
pleasant  company ; — it  is  a  consolation  to  a  benevolent-minded 
person  like  myself,  to  know  that  I,  and  not  they,  will  suffer  from 
the  separation.  Adieu  I" 

"'Till  dinner-time,"  said  Mrs.  Dana. 

Mr.  Dana  convened  a  circle  of  friends  to  meet  a  young 
Northerner,  the  bearer  of  an  introductory  letter  from  his  New 
York  partner ;  and  it  was  apparent  that  his  ideas  of  the  boun- 
daries of  civilization — <  North  by  Cape  Cod — South  by  Sandy 
Hook' — were  seriously  shaken  by  this  peep  at  Virginia  life. 
Mrs.  Dana  was,  Charley  maintained,  a  <  star  housekeeper' ;  and 
her  laurels  did  not  wilt  to-day.  A  perfect  understanding  existed 
between  her  and  her  head-waiter,  <  Uncle  Abraham/  She  did 
not  issue  an  order ;  and  in  emulation  of  her  quiet  manner,  his 
instructions  to  his  satellites  were  inaudible  to  the  guests.  Mr. 
Lacy,  Lynn,  Mr.  Brigham,  (the  stranger,)  Mr.  Villet,  a  French 
gentleman,  whose  amiability  and  politeness  would  have  been  his 
passport  in  any  kingdom  and  clime,  Mr.  Thornton,  recently 
admitted  to  the  bar,  and  a  fair  sample  of  the  educated  South- 
erner ;  with  the  two  Danas,  and  the  ladies,  made  up  the  company. 

Mr.  Thornton  sat  by  Ida;    Mr.  Lacy  opposite.     His  quick 


ALONE.  151 

look  of  pleasure,  as  lie  was  shown  his  place,  indicated  his  satis- 
faction ;  and  although  he  did  not  interfere  with  her  brilliant 
neighbor  by  addressing  her  in  words,  he  did  so  frequently  by  his 
eje  and  smile.  The  conversation  streamed  on  in  a  glittering 
tide ; — Mr.  Thornton,  always  ready  with  fun  or  sense,  and 
Charley,  whose  creed  interdicted  flagging  chit-chat  leading — 
then  Lynn,  warming,  dashed  in ;  pursued,  very  cautiously,  by 
Mr.  Brigham.  Mr.  Villet  cheered  them  on  by  his  gusto  of 
every  repartee;  and  John  Dana  set  his  seal  of  confirmation 
upon  each  profound  remark.  Mr.  Lacy  said  comparatively 
little ;  he  seemed  to  prefer  looking  on ;  but  his  intelligent  couute* 
nance  spoke  so  eloquently  for  him,  that  his  silence  did  not 
obstruct  the  hilarious  current.  There  was  another  listener,  who 
entered  heartily  into  the  spirit  of  the  hour ; — never  imagining 
that  the  speakers  gathered  animation  from  her  beaming  face. 
She  was  oblivious  of  the  fact  of  her  bodily  presence,  until 
brought  to  the  knowledge  by  the  host's, 

t(  Mr.  Lacy, — Miss  Ross  will  take  a  glass  of  wine  with  you." 

Mr.  Lacy  spoke  a  word  to  the  servant  who  stood  prepared  to 
fill  his  glass;  and  bowing  with  graceful  composure  to  his 
vis-a-vis — 

"  Miss  Ross  will  not  forbid  my  pledging  her  health  and 
happiness  in  a  purer  draught,"  he  said,  and  raised  a  tumbler  of 
water  to  his  lips. 

Temperance  societies  were  not  much  in  vogue  in  those  days ; 
and  were  not  in  such  odor  as  now;  and  this  movement 
astounded  all  present.  Mr.  Thornton,  who  had  the  common 
infirmity  of  wits,  who  have  not  learned  the  inadequacy  of  this 
one  talent, — rare  'though  it  be, — to  supply  the  loss  of  every- 
thing else:  and  whose  greatest  fault  was,  that  he  ran  his 
trenchant  blade  as  often  into  the  breast  of  a  friend,  as  foe, 
assailed  his  professional  brother  on  the  spot.  He  was  parried 
with  immovable  good  humour ;  and  the  others  came  to  his  aid ; 
some  with  arguments,  some  with  questions.  Even  Mr.  Villet 
could  not  refrain  from  a  cut  of  polite  ridicule.  The  assailed 
maintained  his  ground  manfully ;  neither  staggered  nor  dis- 
mayed by  the  odds  against  him.  He  knew  every  foot  of  the 
field,  having  fought  upon  it  more  times  than  any  of  them. 
Charley  laid  down  his  arms  first — <  silenced  if  not  convinced' 


152  ALONE. 

ho  owned;  Mr.  Thornton  was  'floored'  by  a  thrust  equal  to  his 
last  blow; — the  fate  of  the  battle  was  to  be  determined  by  single 
combat ;  Lynn  being  unvanquished.  He  was  an  expert  fencer ; 
and  changing  his  tactics,  stood  upon  the  defensive.  Once  and 
again,  was  he  forced  into  a  corner,  from  which  retreat  appeared 
impossible ;  and  as  often  was  he  seen  the  next  moment,  fighting 
in  the  open  plain,  with  unbattered  crest.  His  opponent  pro- 
posed a  suspension  of  hostilities,  but  the  auditors  vetoed  it 
peremptorily.  They  were  alike  amused  and  interested;  and 
Mr.  Lacy  observed,  with  a  smile,  that  the  ruby  poison,  the 
engenderer  of  the  strife,  was  untouched  during  the  discussion. 
Mrs.  Dana  made  a  feint  of  withdrawal,  and  was  solicited  to 
remain,  <  to  be  in  at  the  death/  Charley  said.  He  had  a  double 
motive  in  supporting  the  request ;  he  foresaw  defeat  for  Lynn ; 
and  although  the  admirable  temper  of  the  argument  was  likely 
to  continue  to  the  end,  he  judged  it  best  to  keep  his  gallantry  in 
play,  as  a  balance-wheel  to  his  impetuosity.  The  event  did  not 
disappoint  his  expectation.  Lynn  was  game  to  the  last,  but 
surrender  or  not,  he  was  indubitably  beaten.  Mr.  Lacy  covered 
his  enemy's  rout  by  a  flattering  tribute  to  his  argumentative 
abilities,  and  the  two  laughingly  shook  hands,  as  they  arose 
from  the  board. 

In  the  parlor,  their  undisputed  court,  the  ladies  received 
the  attention  which  had  been  diverted  from  them  by  the  wordy 
war. 

"  To  show  that  I  bear  no  malice  for  old  scores,  I  repeat  the 
petition  that  met  with  so  obstinate  a  refusal,"  said  Mr.  Lacy, 

giving  Ida  his  arm.     "  Will  you  sing  for  me  ?" 
"'  Say,  what  shall  my  song  be  to-night, 

And  the  strain  at  your  bidding  shall  flow,'" 

she  replied,  running  her  fingers  over  the  keys. 

"  That  I  leave  to  you.  I  do  not  know  what  suits  your  voice 
or  taste." 

1 '  The  Last  Rose  of  Summer/  "  prompted  Charley  ;  "  after- 
wards, the  'Captive  Knight.'" 

Mr.  Lacy  laughed;  supposing  he  intended  a  satire  upon  tho 
"  miscellaneous"  songsters,  he  had  also  thought  of,  when  ho 
objected  to  making  a  selection ;  and  Ida,  slightly  piqued  at  his 
want  of  confidence  in  her  powers  of  vocalization,  sang  both  with 


ALONE.  153 

inimitable  skill  and  expression.  The  gentlemen  pressed  around 
to  ask,  each,  for  his  favorite  song.  She  complied  readily  and 
patiently.  The  natural  compass  and  strength  of  her  voice  had 
been  increased  by  diligent  practice,  yet  music  was  with  her,  more 
a  passion  than  an  art ;  her  songs,  spirit-utterances  instead  of  the 
compositions  of  others,  learned  by  rote. 

"  She  is  actually  beautiful  I"  said  Mr.  Dana,  aside  to  his 
brother. 

"  Something  above  the  order  of  puppets,  nicknamed  young 
ladies,  with  which  people  ornament  their  parlors  now-a-days," 
was  the  reply. 

Removed  from  the  gnome-like  regards  of  Josephine,  she  was, 
indeed,  a  different  being.  The  presence  of  this  girl  was  a  mental 
extinguisher — smothering  the  flame  of  feeling  in  fetid  smoke — 
the  kindliness  of  the  Danas,  the  generous  oil  feeding  the  exhausted 
lamp.  Years  afterwards,  when  the  purple  flush  had  faded  from 
life's  morning,  the  scene  preceding  her  departure  upon  this  even- 
ing, would  recur,  as  one  of  the  proudest  and  happiest  moments  of 
her  existence — John  Dana,  standing  in  front  of  her,  his  grave 
features  relaxed  into  a  smile  of  fatherly  fondness,  as  he  heard 
.  her  defence  of  herself  against  an  accusation  of  Mr.  Thornton's — 
Mrs.  Dana,  her  hand  upon  her  husband's  shoulder,  listening  and 
enjoying — Charley  and  Lynn,  her  allies  and  counsellors,  waiting 
to  add  their  testimony — Mr.  Lacy  sitting  beside  her,  and  drink- 
ing in  her  words  with  an  avidity  that  brought  the  blood  tingling 
to  her  cheeks,  and  excited  the  meaning  smiles  of  the  spectators. 
She  was  in  her  proper  sphere :  the  centre  and  idol  of  a  home- 
circle.  The  praises  lavished  upon  her  were  honestly  won — too 
much  would  have  satiated,  not  spoiled — the  utter  absence  of 
reward  soured  her. 

"  I  have  had  a  happy,  happy  day,  dear  Mrs.  Dana  !"  whispered 
she,  at  going.  "  I  shall  write  to  Carry  to-morrow,  to  apprise 
ner  how  well  you  fill  her  place." 

Mr.  Lacy  attended  her  home.  Curiosity  had  set  for  him  the 
study  of  her  character.  Her  mien  bespoke  no  ordinary  soul ; 
and  the  inuendoes  of  Josephine,  meant  to  deter  him  from  pro- 
secuting it,  stimulated  his  desire.  They  had  been  together 
repeatedly,  previous  to  the  party,  but  always  in  the  company  ot 
the  Extinguisher.  Her  arch  glance  and  rejoinder  to  his  thought- 


154  ALONE. 

less  remark,  while  recalling  Josephine's  insinuation  of  her  hoy- 
denish  propensities,  nevertheless  fascinated  him.  From  being 
amused,  he  grew  interested ;  he  was  working  a  mine  of  thought, 
and  unless  the  clue  was  false,  there  was  a  substratum  of  feeling. 
The  friendship  of  the  Danas  convinced  him  that  the  heart  was 
warm  and  true.  He  saw  the  frank  girl  amidst  the  friends  in  the 
studio,  and  the  accomplished  woman  in  the  coterie  of  the  evening; 
and  could  not  say  which  was  most  attractive.  "  So  much  intel- 
ligence and  so  little  affectation  are  seldom  seen  in  the  same 
person ;"  he  meditated.  "  She  has  the  materials  for  a  noble 
character."  Did  he  think  to  mould  it ! 


CHAPTEE    XIII. 

OUR  youthful  debutantes  were  plunged  into  the  maelstrSnrof 
a  fashionable  season  ;  a  whirl  which,  in  its  outermost  circles,  was 
as  gratifying  to  the  feverish  energy  of  Ida  as  to  the  vanity  of 
her  more  grovelling-minded  associate.  The  rapidly  shortening 
days  seemed  longer  instead,  so  uneventful  and  wearisome  were 
they.  Life  commenced  when  the  evening's  thousand  lamps  were 
lit.  The  mingling  perfumes ;  the  crush  and  flutter ;  the  wave- 
like  roar  of  the  assembly-room,  were  delicious  excitement  to  the 
emancipated  school-girl ;  and  to  the  astonishment  of  those  who 
had  known  her  then,  the  reserved  student  bloomed  into  the 
dashing  wit  and  belle ;  beauties  and  hfeiresses  sitting,  uncourted 
by,  while  "  eligibles"  contended  for  the  honor  of  her  preference. 
Her  newness  was  a  part  of  the  secret.  The  spectacle  of  a  wild 
Zingara,  unreined,  and  glorying  in  the  fullness  of  its  freedom, 
scorning  bit  and  spur,  amongst  a  pack  of  jaded  hackneys,  who 
have  been  trotted  and  paced  and  galloped,  year  after  year,  until 
their  factitious  animation  and  oft-repeated  gambols  create  pity 
and  contempt,  would  cause  a  sensation  akin  to  that  awakened  by 
her  appearance.  Her  lightest  words  were  jeux  d'esprit;  her 
laugh,  a  chime  of  silver  wedding-bells;  (things  by  the  way,  of 
which  every  body  talks,  but  nobody  we  have  questioned,  ever 
heard,)  her  singing  seraphic;  her  ballads  lyric  gems;  herself  a 
Oorinne.  Josephine  was  latest  to  perceive,  first  to  resent  this 


ALONE.  155 

sudden  accession  of  popularity.  Rivalry  from  this  source  was  as 
unexpected  as  unbearable.  Her  glass  showed  her  a  form,  airy 
as  a  summer  cloud ;  a  set  of  features  more  delicate  and  regular 
than  Ida's  characteristic  physiognomy ;  and  in  dress,  she  certainly 
bore  off  the  palm ;  her  maid  being  invariably  rung  up  an  hour 
and  a  half  before  Rachel's  services  were  demanded.  She  fought, 
as  long  as  she  could,  with  the  conviction  that  this  pre-eminence 
was  as  though  it  had  not  been  to  the  world ;  and  when  it  made 
a  violent  entrance  into  her  circumscribed  .intellect,  how  was  the 
milk  of  her  nature  curdled  to  vinegar  !  And  how  like  nitre  to 
vinegar,  were  the  happily -chosen  congratulations  of  her  attendant 
beaux,  upon  her  good  fortune  in  inhabiting  the  same  house  with 
"her  charming  friend,  Miss  Ross;"  or,  "Miss  Ida  even  surpasses 
herself  to-night;"  "A  remarkable  girl!  such  vivacity!  and  I 
hear,  quite  as  much  profundity  of  mind ;  is  this  so,  Miss  Read  ?" 
And  the  writhing  dissembler  had  to  assent,  and  corroborate,  and 
smile,  while  the  yeasty  waves  frothed  and  bubbled  furiously  in 
their  confinement.  To  expose  her  envy  would  damage  her  pros- 
pects, hinged  as  they  were,  in  part,  upon  her  sweetness  of  dispo- 
sition. 

It  might  have  been  a  salvo  to  her  wounded  vanity  had  she 
guessed  by  what  a  length  of  time  her  jealousy  outlived  the  tri- 
umph which  aroused  it ;  how  the  feast  of  adulation,  so  daintily 
spread,  ceased  to  tempt,-  then  nauseated ;  how,  from  the  jewelled 
robe  of  society  the  gloss  wore  away,  and  threadbare  tatters  were 
all  that  remained  of  what  was  cloth  of  gold ;  how  prevarications 
and  oaths  refused  longer  to  shelter  falsehood;  and  the  garlands 
withered  and  shrank  from  manacles  which  heated  with  the  wear- 
ing ;  how  the  earth  itself  was  a  thin,  hollow  ball,  that  one  could 
puff  away  with  a  breath ;  how,  ere  the  fire  the  revel  had  infused 
into  her  veins  cooled,  the  coronal  was  plucked  from  the  brow, 
the  costly  attire  crushed  petulantly,  a  worthless  rag !  And  at 
that  window,  the  freezing  air  not  chilling  her  heated  blood — the 
envied  one  wept  blistering  tears  of  self-abhorrence  and  despon- 
dency— and  the  night-wind  sighed  to  the  moan — "Not  this! 
not  this  I"  and  the  old  prayer  for  "  liberty  and  love !"  We  say, 
had  she  known  this,  she  might  have  felt  avenged ;  but  the  public, 
nor  she,  saw  any  alteration  in  its  fondling  and  her  detestation. 
It  was  the  middle  of  December.  Balls,  concerts,  and  soirees  had 


156  ALONE. 

been  given  in  breathless  succession,  and  Ellen  Morris  issued 
tickets  for  yet  another.  The  appointed  hour  saw  the  house  over- 
flowing. Ida  was  near  the  centre  of  the  front  parlor,  radiant  and 
flattered  as  usual.  One  gentleman,  with  an  air  of  easy  assur- 
ance, was  inspecting  her  bouquet;  a  second,  pushing  a  mock 
flirtation  with  all  his  might ;  a  third,  a  callow  youngster,  afraid 
to  speak  to  the  "  bright  particular,"  he  had  so  panted  to  behold, 
staring  into  her  face  in  sheepish  agony;  and  a  fourth  peered 
over  the  shoulder  of  number  one. 

"The  camelia,  Miss  Ida,  what  is  its  emblem?"  asked  the 
bouquet  holder. 

"  Beauty  without  wit;"  rejoined  she,  but  half  hearing  him, 
and  then  finishing  a  sentence  to  No.  2. 

"  Without  amiability,  you  mean,"  corrected  No.  4. 

"  Without  wit  I"  said  Ida.  "  I  relish  an  active  perfume, 
which  can  be  detected  without  effort  of  mine,  and  do  not  prize  a 
flower  that  must  be  bruised  to  extract  its  sweetness ;  amiability 
is,  at  best,  a  passive  virtue." 

"  But  what  is  a  beautiful  woman  without  softness,  tenderness, 
effeminacy  ?"  said  No.  2,  whose  stock  of  words  exceeded  that  of 
ideas.  "  She  wins  us  by  her  yielding  submissiveness,  her  gentle 
mildness.  Destitute  and  devoid  of  these,  she  is  to  me  without 
charm  or  attraction.  Do  not  understand  me,  however,  as  depre- 
ciating or  undervaluing  wit  in  your  presence  !"  recollecting  him- 
self, with  a  salaam. 

"  No  apologies  are  necessary.  We  all  agree  that  such  depre- 
ciation would  come  with  a  bad  grace  from  Mr.  Talbot,"  said  Ida, 
pointedly,  returning  a  still  deeper  curtsey. 

No.  1  nodded,  as  he  laughed,  to  some  one  beside  her.  "  Good 
evening,"  said  Mr.  Lacy,  as  she  looked  around. 

"  And  he  has  overheard  this  nonsensical  stuff !"  thought  she, 
with  inward  disturbance.  "When  did  you  come  in?"  she 
inquired. 

"  About  ten  minutes  since ;  most  of  which  time  has  been 
spent  in  a  search  for  Mrs.  or  Miss  Morris." 
.    "  I  am  glad  to  hear  it." 

«  G-lad— how  ?" 

"  I  feared  you  had  occupied  your  present  position  some  time." 

He  understood  her.-  "There  are  more  people  here  than  I 
expected  to  see,"  he  said,  after  some  general  conversation. 


ALONE.  157 

"Almost  too  many,"  replied  Ida;  "I  am  getting  tired  of 
these  great  parties." 

"  The  heat  is  oppressive.     Have  you  a  liking  for  this  stand  ?" 

«  ND — my  being  here  is  accidental.  It  requires  some  effort  to 
stand,  or  walk  upright,  in  the  heart  of  this  crowd." 

"  I  noticed,  as  I  came  through,  that  the  music  room  was  more 
thinly  populated — will  you  rest  there  ?" 

This  was  a  mere  boudoir  compared  with  others  of  the  suite, 
and  the  prepossessions  of  the  company  were  for  music  of  a  differ- 
ent kind.  The  violin  was  discoursing  its  enchanting  strains  in 
the  farther  apartment,  and  there  were  not  above  a  dozen  persons 
in  the  one,  where  slumbered  the  piano  and  guitar. 

"Are  you  indisposed,  Miss  Ross?"  asked  Mr.  Brigham,  who 
was  fanning  a  fragile-looking  girl,  reclining  in  an  easy  chair. 

"  No — only  tired.  You  have  acted  wisely  in  shunning  the 
press  and  bustle,  Miss  Moore.  I  am  happy  to  see  you  able  to 
venture  out  in  the  evening." 

"  Your  climate  is  doing  wonderful  things  for  me/'  answered 
Miss  Moore,  smiling. 

"  How  dreadful  to  be  deprived  of  health,  and  the  hope  of  a 
long  life  !"  said  Ida,  when  they  were  seated. 

"  And  especially  mournful  in  this  instance,  if  I  am  not 
deceived  !"  replied  Mr.  Lacy.  "  I  pity  that  man  !  he  will  not 
believe  that  bereavement  is  inevitable;  and  if  death  was  ever 
branded  upon  human  brow,  it  is  upon  hers." 

"I  honor  his  constancy  and  devotion,"  said  Ida.  "The 
object  of  his  visit  in  the  fall,  was  to  acquaint  himself  with 
the  advantages  our  city  possesses  for  invalids;  then  he  went 
back  for  her  mother  and  herself.  He  is  both  brother  and  lover. 
Who  would  have  expected  this  from  a  man  of  his  phlegmatic 
constitution  ?" 

"  Another  warning  of  the  folly  of  judging  by  appearances. 
It  is  possible,  too,  that  we  who  are  pitying  her  are  as  much  in 
want  of  compassion.  The  highest  happiness  is  unaffected  by 
extraneous  influences." 

"  Happiness !"  echoed  Ida.     "  It  is  a  myth." 

"  So  says  the  sage  of  eighteen — gay,  gifted  and  caressed  1 
You  will  not  entrap  me  into  a  sermon ;"  said  Mr.  Lacy,  spor- 
tively. "  No !  no !  Miss  Ida !  you  will  regard  me  as  a  lineal 
14 


l-r'  ALONE. 

descendant  of  Bunyan's  Mr.  Law — a  Giant  Grim,  who  frequents 
places  of  amusement  to  corner  children,  and  relate  scary  stories 
to  them." 

"  A  monster  who  does  not  exhibit  himself  often ;"  returned 
Ida.  "  This  is  but  the  second  large  party  at  which  I  have  seen 
you.  Are  you  principled  against  them  ?" 

"  No,  and  yes.  I  do  not  disapprove  of  social  pleasures.  They 
make  light,  yet  firm,  the  bands  that  cement  our  species.  Their 
suppression  would  convert  the  most  benevolent  into  a  morose 
eremite ;  but  I  do  see  incipient  evil  in  the  frequency  of  these 
scenes.  Setting  aside  the  waste  of  time,  which  may  belong  to 
matters  of  importance,  sooner  or  later  they  produce  a  disrelish 
for  domestic  duties,  and  an  enervation,  physical  and  mental,  like 
the  languorous  sobriety  of  a  toper.  There  is  nothing  nourishing 
to  the  immortal  mind,  in  a  ceaseless  round  of  gaiety." 

"  How  do  you  know,  by  personal  experience  ?" 

"  Even  so.  I  once  drank  pretty  deeply  of  Pleasure's  cup — 
did  not  drain  it  to  the  lees — but  drew  off  the  clear  wine,  and  was 
beginning  to  taste  the  bitter,  before  I  would  let  go.  I  was  in 
Mr.  Holmes'  studio,  yesterday,  and  missed  your  portraits.  You 
have  them  ?" 

"  I  have." 

"  Are  you  pleased  ?" 

"Entirely.  I  do  not  remember  my  father,  but  Mr.  Read 
says  the  likeness  is  good.  The  other  could  not  be  improved." 

"  Mr.  Holmes  is  a  painter  of  exalted  abilities,  and  an  enthu- 
siast in  his  art.  I  did  not  know  him  well  until  our  passage  at 
arms  "at  Mr.  Dana's,  the  day  we  dined  there.  We  have  been 
friends  ever  since.  My  sister  writes  that  his  portrait  of  myself 
is  a  solace  in  the  loneliness  of  her  sick  chamber.  She  has  the 
kindest  of  mothers  and  friends,  but  there  are  times  when  they 
are  unavoidably  absent,  and  she  is  childish  enough  to  talk  to  the 
dumb  semblance  of  one  who  is  not  worthy  of  her  love,  and 
Imagine  that  it  looks  back  its  answers." 

"  Have  you  but  one  sister  ?" 

"  But  one  at  home — three  are  married.  Annie  seems  nearer 
to  me;  she  is  next  me  in  age,  and  until  a  year  ago  was  my 
inseparable  companion." 

His  eye  rested  upon  Miss  Moore.     "  We  were  speaking  of 


ALONE. 

happiness  in  affliction.  If  skeptical  on  this  head,  you  should 
know  her.  She  is  never  free  from  pain  and  never  impatient ; 
her  sunny,  loving  temper,  makes  her  room  the  resort  of  the 
neighborhood — but  this  does  not  interest  you." 

"  Not  interest  me !"  said  Ida,  reproachfully.  "  Do  you  then 
think  me  the  heartless  creature  I  appear?  I  am  not  wholly 
absorbed  in  self.  We  have  never  conversed  as  strangers;  do 
not  let  us  retrograde  now.  True,  I  have  no  sister,  but  I  have  a 
friend  who  is  more  to  me,  so  I  may  listen." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he  sincerely.  "  I  have  feared  you  might 
deem  my  informal  address  presumptuous ;  but  I  seem  to  have 
known  you  for  years,  not  months.  I  cannot  wear  my  company 
manners  when  talking  to  you." 

"  Perhaps  we  have  met  before,  in  an  anterior  state  of  exist- 
ence," replied  Ida;  "and  lurking  memories  of  introductions, 
and  compliments,  and  staid  courtesies,  render  these  preliminaries 
odious  now.  I  could  be  sure,  sometimes,  that  my  spirit  had 
lived  in  this  world  before  it  tenanted  its  present  body." 

"  These  are  fascinating,  yet  dangerous  speculations,"  he 
answered.  "  I  am  tormented  by  them  myself,  but  I  shun 
them  as  unprofitable." 

<•'  Why  so  ?  The  soul,  as  our  nobler  part,  merits  most  study; 
its  mysteries  are  yet  undiscovered.  What  a  field  expands  to 
our  contemplation !  over  which  the  mind  may  rove  and  exult 
for  ages,  and  leave  unimpoverished.  I  would  not  barter  one 
hour  of  such  thoughts — chimerical  though  they  may  be — for 
ten  years  of  this  vapid,  surface  life.  I  had  rather  dive  into  the 
ocean,  to  bring  up  nothing  but  valueless  shells,  than  drift,  like 
dead  sea-weed,  upon  the  top  of  the  sleepy  waves." 

"  May  I  describe  another  mode  of  life  and  action  ?" 

"  Certainly — so  you  do  not  laugh  at  me." 

"  Do  you  apprehend  that  I  shall  ?"  fixing  his  clear  eye  upon 
hers.  "  I  would  remind  you  of  the  humble  mariner,  steering 
his  vessel  boldly,  but  carefully,  through  the  waters,  thankful  in 
sunshine,  courageous  in  tempest,  with  one  port  in  view,  rowing 
past  the  Fairy  islands  that  stud  the  deep;  keeping  a  straight 
path  in  a  trackless  waste,  for  he  looks  to  the  eternal  heavens  for 
guidance." 

« I  must  sport  among  the  is.ets,"  said  Ida.     "  You  do  not 


160  ALONE. 

quite  comprehend  me,  Mr.  Lacy.  I  have  told  you  more  than 
once  that  life  has  thus  far  been  a  disappointment  to  me,  but  it 
is  not  that  I  have  sucked  the  orange  dry,  and  would  cast  the 
tasteless  pulp  away.  Mine  has  been  so  acid  I  must  hope  that 
time  and  the  sun  of  prosperity  will  ripen  it  to  lusciousness. 
Others  tell  of  unknown  depths  of  happiness  I  have  capacity  to 
enjoy — am  I  unreasonable  in  trusting  that  my  turn  will  come? 
Have  I  tasted  all  of  earth's  delights  at  eighteen  ?" 

"  Could  you  quaff  them  at  one  draught,  your  thirst  would  not 
be  appeased.  You  are  no  nearer  to  contentment  now  than  you 
were  three  years  since.  The  drink-offering  of  popular  award  is 
growing  dull  and  stale  ;  you  sigh  at  what  would  have  chased 
gloom  a  month  ago,  and  this  is  the  hey-day  of  pleasure.  Nay," 
continued  he,  dropping  his  earnest  tone,  and  bending  to  look 
into  her  face,  "  I  shall  not  forgive  myself  if  I  mar  your  even- 
ing's entertainment  by  my  croaking.  Messrs.  Talbot  &  Co.'s 
anathemas  against  my  impertinent  monopoly  do  not  occasion 
me  a  hundredth  part  of  the  disquiet  your  very  sober  face  does. 
Mr.  Thornton  is  coming  to  ask  you  to  dance.  Will  you  go  ?" 

"  Fatigued !"  exclaimed  the  barrister,  to  her  excuse.  "  I 
should  as  soon  admit  the  plea  of  a  star  for  ceasing  to  shine  upon 
the  pretext  that  it  was  too  troublesome  to  continue  its  light." 

"  Has  there  never  been  such  a  disappearance  ?"  questioned 
Mr.  Lacy. 

"  I  have  seen  eclipses,"  retorted  the  other.  "  The  sun  is 
invisible,  when  the  leaden  moon  comes  between  it  and  us. 
This  music  is  too  inspiriting,  Miss  Ross ;  am  I  reduced  to  the 
necessity  of  seeking  another  partner  ?" 

« I  am  sorry  I  can't  say  'no/  "  said  she,  laughingly. 

Mr.  Lacy  was  bent  upon  expelling  the  regrets  reflection  might 
beget;  and  wiled  into  confidence  by  his  gentle  endeavors  to 
induce  a  trust  in  him  as  a  friend,  Ida  spoke  freely,  though  not 
unguardedly,  of  feelings  and  thoughts  which  had  been  so  long 
hushed,  that  their  speech  was  slow  and  imperfect;  but  he  inter- 
preted and  prized  their  stammered  story.  As  the  night  wore 
on,  exhausted  couples  dropped  in,  and  there  was  an  end  to  con- 
nected conversation.  It  was  as  well,  for  both  were  forgetting 
where  they  were.  Morton  relinquished  his  chair  to  Ellen,  and 
Btood  by  her,  and  Lynn  sank,  playfully,  upon  one  knee  before  Ida. 


ALONE.  161 

"  Take  care  I"  was  his  whisper.  "  Serpents  coil  in  rose- 
thickets." 

«  What  do  you  meun  ?"  inquired  sue,  struck  and  chilled. 

"  That  we  are  the  most  tenacious  of  that  to  which  we  have 
the  most  meagre  title." 

«  A  masculine  Sphinx  !  speak  out  1"  she  demanded. 

"  Miss  Read  could  enact  (Edipus  to  this  riddle.  Seriously, 
Ida,  beware  of  that  woman  !  She  courts  Lacy's  society.  I  do 
not  know  what  the  ladies'  verdict  is — to  us  it  is  as  plain  as  that 
he  does  not  like  her  half  as  well  as  he  does  you.  Do  not  avoid 
him ;  he  deserves  your  favor ;  but  do  nothing  to  uncover  her 
eyes — blindfolded  by  her  egregious  conceit." 

"  Lynn !  you  confound  me !  What  have  I  to  do  with  Mr. 
Lacy !  I  have  no  interests  which  would  war  with  hers,  were  they 
ever  so  strong.  Having  nothing  to  lose,  I  have  nothing  to  fear. 
I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  brotherly  cares,"  she  added, 
roguishly.  "  A  fellow-feeling  makes  us  wondrous  kind." 

«  You  know  it,  then !"  exclaimed  he,  his  large  eyes  splendid 
in  their  flash  of  intelligence  and  rapture. 

"  I  am  not  insensible  or  indifferent,  where  the  happiness  of 
my  friends  is  concerned,"  she  rejoined,  in  the  same  confidential 
tone. 

Another  gleam  thanked  her. 

Ellen  Morris  was  what  is  termed,  a  « taking  girl."  The  high, 
gay  spirit,  which  had  distinguished  her  among  her  comrades  at 
Mr.  Purcell's  won  her  distinction  in  a  world  willing  to  be  amused. 
She  had  objectionable  traits,  but  there  was  also  much  that  was 
admirable  and  loveable  about  her.  ^If  her  over-weening  fond- 
ness for  merriment  offended,  it  was  easy  to  forgive  one,  whose 
lively  sense  of  the  comic  was  inbred  and  irresistible.  Still,  it 
was  a  marvel  that  the  impassioned -Lynn  should  recognise  in  her 
the  embodiment  of  his  poetic  dream  of  woman.  They  met 
before  he  went  to  Europe,  and  the  tricksy  sprite  of  a  school-girl 
was  not  dislodged  from  his  memory  by  the  lures  that  tried  him 
there.  He  came  back  to  find  a  blooming  maiden  preserving  the 
fresh,  joyous  grace  which  had  captivated  him  in  the  child — and  . 
loved !  as  men  seldom  love — as  women  often  do — with  an  aban-  * 
don  of  affection,  an  upyielding  of  every  faculty  and  thought  to 
14* 


162  ALONE. 

the  dominion  of  one  sentiment — a  love  tbat  brings  gladness  to 
few  hearts,  and  breaks  many !  many ! 

Had  he  asked  Ida,  with  the  disinterested  equanimity,  some 
suitors  we  wot  of,  display,  what  course  she  would  advise  in  this 
momentous  matter,  she  would  have  responded  with  a  sister's 
candor,  "  she  does  not  suit  you — rid  yourself  of  your  entangle- 
ment j"  but  it  was  too  late  j — she  must  hope  with,  and  for  .him. 
la  payment  for  his  cautionary  remark,  she  hinted,  that,  situated 
as  they  were,  misconstruction  and  jealousy  might  be  formidable 
foes  to  his  peace  of  mind : — that  neither  '  smiles  nor  frowns 
were  unerring  indices  of  a  girl's  heart.  He  scouted  the  implied 
suspicion. 

"  Jealous  of  these  popinjays !"  glancing  disdainfully  at  the 
black  coats  and  white  vests  in  attendance,  as  if  he  thought  they 
contained  wound-up  automata. 

"The  danger  does  not  appear  imminent ;"  said  she.  "See 
that  you  retain  this  satisfied  state  of  mind." 

Her  countenance  fell,  and  he  heard  Josephine  say,  simper- 
ingly — 

"  How  dramatic !  pray,  Mr.  Holmes,  is  this  a  rehearsal,  or  a 
real  performance  ?" 

"  Most  ladies  are  so  versed  in  love  affairs,  as  to  understand 
the  symptoms  at  a  glance ; — is  not  your  eye  sufficiently  practiced  ?" 
asked  he,  with  a  curling  lip. 

"  No,  sir.  I  regret  to  say  that  the  gentlemen  of  my  acquaint- 
ance are  not  sentimental  or  politic  enough,  to  get  up  such  scenes." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  do  deplore  it." 

"Why,  Mr.  Holmes!"  ejaculated  Ellen,  with  her  gleeful 
laugh ;  "  how  ungallant !" 

"  You  mistake.  It  was  a  skilful  combination  of  veracity  and 
politeness.  I  must  coincide  with  her,  and  am  pleased  that  it 
can  be  done  without  violence  to  my  conscience.  I  wish  I  could 
propose  a  cure  for  the  evil  you  lament,  Miss  Read,  but  I  anz 
afraid  it  is  irremediable.  Men  are  obstinate  animals." 

Ida,  alarmed,  touched  his  foot;  and  the  lynx  eyes  saw  the 
slight  movement.  A  deadly  light  glowed  there  for  an  instant, 
and  was  extinguished  in  softness,  as  she  assailed  Mr.  Lacy. 

'"  In  what  far  distant  region  of  tho  hall.' 
have  you  kept  yourself  all  the  evening,  Sir  Truant  ?" 


ALONE.  163 

"Polyhymnia  and  Melpomene  I"  muttered  Lynn. 

« I  have  been  a  fixture  in  this  room  most  of  the  time;"  replied 
Morton. 

"  How  selfish !  had  you  no  sense  of  duty  ?  could  you  not 
sacrifice  your  ease  to  secure  the  enjoyment  of  your  friends  ?" 

"  It  would  argue  ridiculous  vanity  in  me,  to  suppose  that  my 
absence  has  detracted  from  the  pleasures  of  the  assembly ;  and 
from  the  aspirants  for  the  smile  of  the  reigning  belles,  so  unim- 
portant a  personage  is  not  missed." 

"Can  he  like  her?"  thought  Ida.  "There  is  still  an  air 
unlike  other  men,  but  he  does  not  act  or  speak  as  he  did  to  me. 
He  looks  amused  but  very  careless.  Oh !  why  must  we  have 
two  faces  ?" 

"  Why  did  you  stop  me  just  now  ?"  queried  Lynn,  pettishly. 
"  I  do  not  fear  her ;  I  am  rather  anxious  she  should  know  the 
extent  of  my  dislike." 

"  How  will  that  benefit  either  of  you  ?"  inquired  Ida. 

"  Don't  play  the  saint !  much  consideration  you  owe  her !  1 
am  a  good  hater  : — I  cannot  fawn  and  smile  upon  one, — woman 
though  she^is — beggared  in  principle  and  heart.  She  is  capable 
of  anything.  Mean  and  tyrannical — those  who  deal  with  her, 
must  be  tools  or  enemies, — I  choose  the  latter  alternative.  I 
will  not  hear  any  justification.  Don't  I  know — cannot  everybody 
see,  that  she  is  the  trouble  of  your  life, — that  she  would  murder 
you,  but  for  the  cowardly  dread  of  detection !" 

"  You  will  counsel  me  next,  to  sleep  with  pistols  under  my 
pillow ;"  said  she.  "  What  an  array  of  horrors  you  are  manu- 
facturing ?" 

"  It  is  as  true  as  Gospel.  Why  disclaim  it  ?  Charley  told 
me  of  the  vixen  before  I  saw  her ;  he  can  be  civil — I  cannot — 
and  what  is  more — will  not !" 

"  He  sees,  perhaps,  that  animosity  to  my  friends  may  be  an 
engine  to  inflict  suffering  upon  me ;"  answered  Ida,  thinking  of 
Mr.  Dermott. 

Lynn  coloured.  "  He  intimated  as  much.  I  have  not  his 
self-command ;  he  is  a  better,  because  a  more  unselfish  friend 
than  I," 

"  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  you  •"  was  the  reply.  "  It  is  a 
comfort  to  feel,  that  come  what  may,  I  have  twc  brothers  tc 
depend  upon." 


164  ALONE. 

Charley  was  leaning  upon  the  back  of  her  chair,  and  this 
remark  was  made  partly  to  him.  Lynn  pressed  her  hand,  as  he 
recovered  himself  from  his  lowly  posture,  but  there  was  as  much 
meaning  in  the  kind  gaze  of  his  undemonstrative  friend.  Their 
affection  was  a  rill  of  pure  water,  stealing  through  a  region  of 
artificial  light  and  bloom ;  and  people  pretended  to,  or  did  mis- 
interpret it.  Josephine  credited,  doubted,  and  was  impatient  by 
turns.  One  of  them  was  the  lover ; — they  were  too  friendly  to 
be  bound  upon  the  same  errand.  Lynn's  manner  was  most 
unequivocal — but  his  attentions  to  Ellen !  Charley  was  not  a 
marrying  man — that  was  settled — everybody  said ;  but  the  ten- 
der respect  he  paid  Ida ;  the  watchfulness  that  protected  her 
from  impertinence  and  neglect,  were  weighty  offsets  to  this 
popular  decision ; — and  again,  opposed  to  these,  were  his  dis- 
interestedness in  surrendering  his  post  to  Lynn,  or  any  agreeable 
companion,  who  sought  it,  and  the  absence  of  uneasiness  in  his 
observation  of  her  belleship. 

Ida  laughed  at  her  mystification,  as  did  those  who  effected  it, 
— frequently  concerting  some  manoeuvre,  by  which  to  lead  her 
further  into  the  labyrinth.  If  Charley  made  one  of  the  family 
in  the  evening,  the  morrow  brought  Lynn  to  drive  or  walk. 
Charley  lent  her  books,  and  imported  a  writing-desk  from  Paris, 
upon  hearing  Mrs.  Dana  say  that  Ida  had  made  a  fruitless 
search  through  the  city,  for  one  of  a  particular  description ; — 
Lynn  appeared  to  have  laid  down  the  brush  for  the  spade  and 
pruning  knife,  so  abundant  were  the  bouquets,  left  with  Mr. 
Holmes'  compliments;  and  the  walls  of  her  chamber  were 
adorned  with  pictures,  from  subjects  proposed  or  approved  by 
her.  But  amidst  the  frolicsome  action  of  this  drama,  was  col- 
lecting matter  for  another,  to  be  closed  only  with  Life, — to  be 
remembered,  perchance,  with  Eternity;  and  the  chief  actor 
danced  and  sang  and  sported,  unaware  of  the  importance  of  the 
dawning  era.  All  her  life  a  dreamer,  she  did  not  observe  that 
the  enshrined  ideal  was  shaping  itself  into  the  real ; — that  the 
far-off  future,  her  hopes  had  sprung  forward  to  greet,  as  if  to 
meet  it  half-way  would  hasten  its  lagging  pace,  was  merging 
into  the  brightening  present.  She  had  expected  the  summer  to 
burst  upon  her,  with  fragrance  and  music  and  sunshine,  and  took 
no  note  of  the  swelling  buds  and  violet  perfume  of  Spring  And 


ALONE.  165 

here,  let  not  him,  who  is  wearied  by  the  labors  of  Autumn,  or 
numbed  by  the  frosts  of  Winter,  close  our  humble  story,  with  a 
lofty  scorn,  or  scathing  displeasure  at  the  prospect  of  a  "  love- 
tale."  Rather  let  him  unfold  his  shut-up  heart,  and  read  there 
of  his  own  glad  May,  its  dancing  shadows,  fairer  than  the 
oblique  sun-rays  that  fall  upon  his  beaten  track ; — of  the  rosy 
June,  the  redemption  of  its  young  sister's  promise  : — and  look- 
ing sadly  upon  its  dust-eaten  blossoms,  think,  with  loving  pity, 
of  flower-cups  which  hold  the  dew-drop  now, — soon  to  fade  and 
shrivel  as  these  have  done  ! 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

IT  had  been  predicted  from  the  premature  beginning  of  the 
winter's  gaieties,  that  an  ebb  would  occur  before  the  Southern 
carnival,  Christmas,  and  the  party-goers  resolved  to  falsify  the 
prophecy. 

Mrs.  Dana  called  on  the  afternoon  of  the  24th  to  invite  Ida 
and  Josephine  to  dine  with  her.  "  You  will  see  only  ourselves 
and  Mr.  Holmes,  who  is  Charley's  shadow." 

"  A  stupid  set,"  was  Josephine's  reflection.  "  How  pleasant," 
Ida's ;  and  their  answers  corresponded.  The  former,  "  very  sorry, 
papa  would  always  dine  at  home,  Christmas-day ;  he  held  it  to 
be  a  religious  duty  she  verily  believed/"  laughing  affectedly,  "  and 
he  could  not  eat  unless  she  were  there." 

Ida  said,  "  I  will  come  with  pleasure,  thank  you,"  and  lost 
all  but  the  main  purport  of  Miss  Read's  apology,  in  an  eager 
whisper  from  Elle,  who  was  with  her  mother. 

« I  don't  hear,  will  I  <  please  come  to  what  ?'  lifting  her  to  her 
lap. 

Elle  put  her  arms  around  her  neck,  and  her  mouth  to  her 
ear. 

"  To  your  molasses  stew !"  said  Ida,  "  indeed  I  will.  When 
is  it  to  be  ?" 

Another  important  whisper. 

«  Josephine,  are  we  engaged  for  to-morrow  evening  ?" 

» I  do  not  know,"  she  replied,  shortly. 


166  ALONE. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  Dana.  "  Elle's  head  is  full  of  her 
frolic.  I  was  describing  to  her  the  molasses  stew  I  had  every 
Christmas,  when  I  was  a  child,  and  nothing  would  do  but  I  must 
promise  her  one  for  <  being  a  good  girl/  " 

"  She  deserves  it,  I  know,"  said  Ida,  fondly.  "  I  will  come, 
Elle,  if  I  leave  fifty  grown  people's  parties." 

"  Will  you,  too  ?"  asked  the  child,  going  up  to  Josephine. 
Mrs.  Dana  pressed  the  invitation. 

"  I  am  not  certain,  but  I  have  engaged  to  go  somewhere  else," 
said  Josephine,  smiling  heartlessly  into  the  pure  little  face.  "  If 
I  can,  I  will  do  myself  the  honor,  Miss  Dana." 

The  wretched  attempt  at  playfulness  actually  frightened  Elle, 
who  shrunk  again  to  the  side  of  her  friend. 

"  Are  you  serious  in  promising  to  go  to  this  babyish  fal-lal  ?" 
snapped  Josephine,  the  minute  Mrs.  Dana  was  gone. 

"  I  am." 

"Did  not  you  hear  that  Anna  Talbot  is  to  receive  company 
to-morrow  night  ?" 

"Yes;  and  I  am  rejoiced  that  Elle's  invitation  was  earliest. 
There  are  Anna  and  Ellen  Morris." 

"  I  haven't  time  to  stay,"  exclaimed  the  young  lady,  throwing 
herself  upon  the  sofa.  "  You  both  must  spend  a  sociable  even- 
ing with  me — a  Christmas  jubilee — egg-nogg,  country-dances, 
etc.  "We  are  to  have  a  high  time.  You  are  disengaged  ?" 

"  I  am,"  said  Josephine,  promptly,  "  and  if  I  were  not,  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  send  a  'regret/  and  go  to 
your  house." 

e{  Thank  you — and  you,  Ida — may  I  count  upon  you  both  ?" 
drawing  up  her  cloak.  Ida  declined  courteously; — "she  was 
engaged  to  Mrs.  Dana." 

"  Oh !"  began  Anna,  disappointed. 

"  Is  it  not  too  silly  ?"  interposed  Josephine.  "  It  is  a  child's 
party — a  molasses  stew — think  of  it!" 

"  You  are  joking,  Ida,"  said  Ellen,  "  excuse  yourself  to  Elle 
— we  want  you !" 

"Not  as  much  as  my  little  cousin  does.  I  cannot  break  my 
word  to  her." 

"  Little  cousin  !"  smiled  Anna.  "  I  thought  the  relationship 
was  closer.  I  will  not  give  up  the  hope  of  persuading  you. 


ALONE.  167 

The  nicest  beaux  in  town  are  to  be  there — Mr.  Thornton,  Mr. 
Russell,  and  Mr.  Villet,  and  Mr.  Lacy,  and  a  score  more — da 
come  I'" 

"  I  cannot !"  said  Ida,  with  a  pang. 

"  Papa  will  not  be  pleased  with  our  going  out  separately ;" 
said  Josephine,  that  night. 

"  He  does  not  object  to  my  going  to  Mr.  Dana's  alone;"  was 
the  response. 

"  Thinking  of  number  one,  as  usual,  my  amiable  lady  !  I  tell 
you  what !  I  shall  not  demean  myself,  by  playing  puss-in-the- 
corner,  and  smearing  my  hands  with  treacle,  when  I  might  be 
at  Mr.  Talbot's,  in  decent  company." 

"  As  you  like.  If  you  represent  the  character  of  the  com- 
pany to  your  father,  he  will  probably  insist  upon  your  mixing 
with  them." 

"  He !  he  !"  tittered  Rachel,  who  was  in  waiting.  Josephine 
flounced  out  of  the  room. 

«  Christmas  gift,  Miss  Ida !"  Her  maid  stood  at  her  bedside, 
in  the  grey  morning  light.  "  Christmas  gift !"  called  out  the 
passers-by,  as  they  encountered  each  other  in  the  street.  "  Hur- 
rah for  Christmas  I"  shouted  squads  of  boys,  at  the  corner,  to  a 
brilliant  accompaniment  of  pop-crackers. 

Ida  heard  it  all,  with  a  spirit  out  of  tune  with  mirth.  No 
gifts  were  prepared  for  herj  the  Thanksgiving-day  was  one  of 
mourning  to  the  homeless.  She  had  anticipated  a  visit  from 
Carry,  during  the  holidays ;  but  her  last  letter  had  dashed  the 
hope.  «  Mammy"  was  recovering  from  a  severe  fit  of  sickness, 
and  she  would  not  leave  her.  Ida  wished  she  were  not  to  dine  at 
Mr.  Dana's  ;  she  was  not  fit  for  society,  and  sad  enough,  without 
the  sight  of  joys,  which  reminded  her  of  her  losses  and  wants. 
In  this  discontented  mood,  she  went  down  stairs.  No  Christmas 
yet !  Mr.  Read  grunted  to  her  formal  bow,  and  Josephine  said 
"  the  coffee  was  cold — it  had  been  on  the  table  so  long."  Mr. 
Read  finished  his  second  cup,  and  pulled  out  his  pocket-book. 

"  People  will  be  asking  if  I  made  you  a  present.  Thank 
goodness  !  Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year.  Two  would  break 
a  man.  There!"  fillipping  a  roll  of  notes  to  his  daughter. 
"  Don't  waste  it  upon  gimcracks  and  finery.  If  women  had  to 
earn  money,  they  wouldn't  be  so  crazy  to  spend  it.  You  must 


168  ALONE. 

have  some,  I  suppose  :"  and  he  laid  a  smaller  bundle  upon  Ida'e 
plate. 

„ «  No,  sir !  I  have  money  of  my — "  but  he  did  not  wait  to  hear 
her  through.  As  she  quitted  the  table,  Josephine  pointed  to 
the  untouched  "  present." 

"  Take  it,  if  you  choose  !"  said  Ida,  contemptuously.  "  I  am 
not  a  dependant  or  a  beggar  I" 

Josephine  loved  money,  and  pocketed  it.  "  And  the  old  cur- 
mudgeon is  none  the  wiser  I"  chuckled  the  dutiful  daughter. 

Ida  stretched  herself  upon  a  lounge,  and  set  seriously  about 
reasoning  herself  out  of  her  despondency.  She  thought  of  Carry, 
and  Lynn  and  Charley  ;  but  they  came  reluctantly,  with  selfishly 
happy  faces;  with  their  schemes  and  amusements  and  dearer 
friends.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dana  pitied  her; — this  was  the  spring 
of  their  kindness !  and  her  haughty  soul  winced  at  the  idea. 
Hope  and  Fancy  crept,  with  trailing  wings,  into  hiding-places 
until  the  sun  should  shine  out — she  sullenly  hugged  her  misery. 
What  visionary  who  reads  this,  but  has  suffered  from  these 
morbose  fits  ? 

"  Well  ?"  said  she,  tartly,  as  Rachel  tiptoed  across  the  floor. 

"  I  thought  you  was  asleep;"  replied  the  sable  damsel. 

"  I  am  awake — do  you  want  anything  ?" 

Rachel  rubbed  her  chin,  gave  her  turban  a  twitch,  and  fumbled 
in  her  pocket.  "  Law !  I  aint  lost  it,  I  know !  It  must  be  in 
my  bosom  I" 

Ida,  awakened  by  her  movements,  watched  her  as  she  pro- 
duced a  tiny  packet  from  the  last-mentioned  receptacle.  With 
an  odd  compound  of  awkwardness  and  affection,  she  slipped  a 
ring  upon  her  mistress'  finger. 

"  Thar  !  it  fits  !  don't  it  ?"  intensely  complacent. 

"  But  where  did  you  get  it,  Rachel  ?  is  it  for  me  ?" 

"For  you,  and  nobody  else,  Miss  Ida.  I  was  determined 
your  nose  should  not  be  made  a  bridge  of  by  everybody;  so  I've 
been  a  savin'  my  spare  coppers — (and  no  servant  of  yours  wants 
for  'em,)  and  when  you  was  admirin'  that  ar  ring  of  Miss 
Josephine's,  I  says  to  myself — <  She  shall  have  one  !'  and  when 
I'd  cleaned  up  your  room,  I  took  off  down  town  to  the  jewellerers 
—and  thar  'tis — wishin'  you  a  Merry  Christmas,  and  an  ever- 
lastin'  Happy  New  Year,  ma'am !"  stepping  back  with  a  flourish- 


ALONE.  169 

lag  courtesy.  Ida  tried  to  smile  at  her  peroration,  and  failing, 
burst  into  tears.  Rachel  was  transfixed.  She  was  not  used  to 
hysterics,  and  had  never  seen  her  mistress  weep  before.  Her 
consternation  was  a  speedy  restorative ;  and  Ida  finally  made  her 
sensible  that  she  was  not  grieved  or  displeased,  but  overjoyed  at 
her  gift.  Then  the  voluble  Abigail  recollected  "  somethin'  else" 
she  had  to  communicate. 

"  Aint  that  tall  gentleman,  with  black  whiskers,  that  visits 
here  so  constant,  named  Mr.  Lacy  t" 

«  Yes." 

"  I  thought  so.  When  I  went  into  the  jewellerer's  he  was  a 
standin'  at  the  counter,  buyin'  a  pair  of  gold  spectacles — for  his 
mother — I  reckon.  I  heard  him  say  they  was  for  a  lady.  I 
asked  for  the  rings,  and  the  shop-boy  gave  me  a  string  of  brassy, 
ugly  things — and  says  I — <  I  want  a  handsome  one,  sir,  for  my 
mistis.' 

11 '  Your  mistis !'  says  he.     *  Them's  plenty  good  for  her !' 

" '  Are  these  the  best  you  have  ?'  says  Mr.  Lacy,  sort  o' 
frownin'  and  talkin'  like  he  was  his  master  fifty  times  over. 

" '  No,  sir — would  you  like  to  see  some  t'  says  the  boy,  turnin' 
white. 

"  <  Bring  them  !'  says  Mr.  Lacy  ;  and  when  they  come,  he 
told  me,  with  the  sweetest  smile,  and  so  respectful !  <  These  cost 
a  great  deal  of  money — do  you  know  it  ?'  So  I  showed  him 
what  I  had,  and  he  said  'twould  do.  Bimeby,  I  picked  out  two, 
and  could  not  tell  which  was  the  prettiest.  I  kept  a-lookin'  at 
one,  and  then  at  'tother,  and  says  he,  <  Can't  you  choose  between 
them  ?' 

" '  No,  sir,'  says  I. 

" '  I  think  that  the  handsomest ;'  says  he,  pintin*  to  one,  and 
that's  it  you've  got  on  your  finger,  this  minute,  Miss  Ida.  He 
seed  that  low-lived  boy  give  me  the  right  change,  and  when  I 
curchyed  and  said,  <  I'm  mightily  obliged  to  you,  sir ;'  he  said, 
'You  are  welcome,'  just  like  I'd  been  the  Governor !  Wo 
colored  folks  know  a  gentleman  when  we  see  him,  and  Tie  is  a 
real  born  one." 

The  ring  was  very  elegant,  and  the  blood  mounted  to  Ida's 
temple's,  as  she  toyed  with  it. 

"  Perhaps,  it  was  not  Mr.  Lacy  ?"  said  she,  in  a  tone  of 
15 


170  ALONE. 

extreme  indifference.  "Where  had  you  met  him,  that  you 
know  him  ?" 

"  I  never  met  him  nowhar.  I  seed  him  one  Sunday,  when 
he  walked  home  with  you  from  church,  and  I  was  at  the  upstairs 
window,  and  once  through  the  dinin'-room  door  when  he  waa 
here  to  supper,  and  once — through  the  parlor  window." 

"  Peeping !  Rachel !  If  he  had  seen  you,  he  would  not  think 
as  highly  of  your  manners,  as  you  do  of  his." 

"  Peeping  !  Law !  Miss  Ida,  them  was  sly  glimpses,  permis- 
cuous-like,  you  know.  He  warn't  a-gwine  to  catch  me." 

A  longer  inspection  of  the  ring.  There  was  no  blush  this 
time,  but  the  smile  was  happier.  The  motive  was  then  as  pure 
as  the  action  was  generous.  The  little  shower  had  purified  the 
murky  atmosphere.  This  token  of  remembrance,  at  a  moment 
when  she  believed  herself  forgotten,  was  none  the  less  dear  that 
the  donor  was  a  poor  slave.  It  was  the  fruit  of  self-denying 
affection ;  and  had  no  sooner  clasped  her  finger,  than  it  acted  as 
the  Open  Sesame  to  a  store-house  of  untold  riches.  "  It  has 
taught  me  more  than  one  lesson,"  she  murmured. 

Rachel  was  garrulously  happy. 

"  I  do-clar,  Miss  Ida,  you've  been  gettin'  prettier  ever  since  I 
come  in;"  said  she,  standing  off  to  survey  the  effect  of  her 
toilette.  "  I  hope  thar'll  be  a  crowd  at  Mars'  John's.  Is  it  a 
dinin'-day  ?" 

"  No — a  family  party." 

"  That's  a  pity  !  I  'spect  thar's  another  present  1  It  never 
rains  but  it  pours." 

The  footman  said  Mr.  Dana  was  below.  Charley  waited  to 
escort  her  to  his  brother's ;  and  Ida  began  to  realise,  as  he  paid 
the  compliments  of  the  season,  in  a  style,  eminently  «  Char- 
leyish/' — that  Christmas  had  indeed  come. 

"  Christmas  gift !  Christmas  gift !  cousin  Ida,"  shouted  two 
infantine  voices;  and  Charley  the  less,  and  Elle  scampered 
down  the  porch-steps  to  salute  her.  "  Now  mamma !  now  for 
the  tree !  She  is  here  I" 

"  Oh !  Mrs.  Dana !  have  not  they  seen  their  tree  ?  What 
suspense  for  the  dear  creatures  I" 

"  It  was  their  wish ;  and  their  father  would  not  consent  that 
the  door  should  be  unlocked  until  the  family  were  assembled." 


ALONE  171 

« Here  is  the  last  straggler !"  exclaimed  Lynn,  springing 
into  the  group,  shaking  hands  with  his  friends,  and  kissing  the 
children.  "  We  are  all  here  I" 

At  a  given  signal,  the  door  of  the  mysterious  room  was  un- 
folded, and  revealed  the  tree ;  its  precious  load  glittering  and 
gay  in  the  clear  winter  day.  Headed  by  "  papa,"  and  closed 
by  the  nurse  and  baby,  the  procession  performed  a  circuit,  and 
then  formed  a  ring.  Uncle  Charley  was  distributor;  accom- 
panying each  gift  by  an  appropriate  remark.  For  Ida,  there 
were  a  pair  of  ear-rings  from  John  Dana  ;  a  bracelet  of  fair 
hair,  which  did  not  require  the  simple  "  Carry"  upon  the 
chased  clasp,  to  signify  from  whose  brow  it  had  been  shorn  ; 
a  handsomely-bound  edition  of  Shelly's  works — Lynn's  taste ; 
Charley  gave  a  card  case,  a  Chinese  curiosity,  and  evaded  her 
thanks  and  praises  by  pointing  out  a  resemblance  in  the  most 
grotesque  figure,  carved  thereupon,  to  himself,  a  circumstance, 
which  he  protested,  induced  him  to  select  it.  Among  the 
white  buds  of  a  perpetual  rose-tree,  hung  a  card — "  Elle  and 
Charley  to  their  dear  cousin  ;"  and  Mrs.  Dana  finished  the  list 
with  a  rose-wood  work-box,  supplied  with  every  implement  of 
female  industry. 

"  Is  this  being  friendless  ?"  asked  Ida,  inly,  looking  at  her 
acquisitions.  "  For  the  rest  of  the  day,  I  will  be  grateful  and 
contented." 

The  morning  was  spent  in  the  nursery.  On  Christmas  day, 
its  door  could  not  bar  intruders  ;  there  were  no  men  or  women  ; 
all  were  children,  Charley  whipped  his  namesake's  top ;  rocked 
the  cradle ;  and  instructed  Elle  in  domestic  economy,  as  he 
helped  arrange  her  baby-house.  The  dinner-bell,  rung  an  hour 
earlier  than  usual,  on  account  of  the  wee  ones  taking  that  meal 
with  the  "  big  folks,"  was  faintly  heard  in  the  din  of  a  famous 
game  of  romps.  The  afternoon  was  less  noisy ;  the  children 
fell  asleep,  wearied  with  frolic  ;  the  gentlemen  walked  out ;  Mrs. 
Dana  was  busy;  and  so  it  was,  that  Ida  sat  alone  in  the 
drawing-room,  at  nightfall,  watching  the  passing  of  the  pink 
light  from  the  clouds,  and  thinking — "  Everything  to  gladden 
me,  and  yet  ill  at  ease  !  murmuring  soul,  be  still  I"  And  then 
she  wished  for  the  society  of  a  calmer  mind,  that  should  speak 
peace  to  the  heavings  of  her  unquiet  spirit;  for  the  compre- 


172  A  L  0  X  E  . 

hensive  charity,  the  benign  philosophy,  which  hoped  for  the  best, 
and  argued  for  the  right — this  was  her  version  of  the  outgoing 
of  the  woman's  heart — "  Would  he  were  here  !" 

But  Elle's  friends  came  early,  and  she  had  no  time  for  higher 
thoughts  than  filling  small  mouths  with  bread  and  butter — 
" run-the-thimble,"  the  vexed  question  of  "how  many  miles 
to  Babylon ;"  and  «  Chicken-me-chicken-me-craney-crow ;"  pas- 
times, whose  barbarous  names  cause  the  refined  juveniles  of  this 
precocious  '54,  to  join  their  gloved  hands  in  thanksgiving,  that 
their  lot  was  not  cast  in  those  times  !  As  the  dignified  master 
of  the  house  deigned  to  participate  in  the  ceremonies,  we  trust 
our  heroine  will  not  suffer  a  very  grievous  letting-down  in  the 
opinion  of  these  formidable  critics,  for  the  prominent  parts  she 
assumed.  A  circle  was  ordered  for  "  Fox  and  goose."  Charley 
played  Reynard,  and  Ida,  goose  the  first.  The  children  enjoyed, 
without  fully  understanding  the  game,  and  she  had  to  keep  the 
character  longer  than  the  laws  prescribed.  Round  and  round 
they  flew — circling  and  doubling — the  spectators  screaming  their 
applause — and  she  ran  directly  against  a  gentlemen  who  was 
entering.  Her  impetus  was  such  that  she  would  have  fallen, 
but  for  his  extended  arm.  A  laughing  voice  said  something, 
unintelligible  in  her  confusion. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Lacy  !"  cried  Elle.  "I  was  so  afraid  you  wouldn't 
come  !" 

"  I  promised — did  I  not  ?"  said  he,  stooping  to  kiss  her. 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  I  thought  maybe  you'd  rather  go  to  Miss 
Anna  Talbot's  party,  like  Miss — " 

"  Elle  !  Elle  !  no,  no  I"  whispered  Ida,  in  time  to  suppress  the 
name. 

"  You  see  I  had  rather  be  at  yours ;"  he  returned,  without 
noticing  the  unfinished  sentence.  "  What  are  you  playing  ?" 

" '  Did  you  ever  see  a  wild  gooso 

Sailing  on  the  ocean  ?'  " 
sang  Charley. 

" '  The  wild  goose's  motion 

Was  a  mighty  funny  notion.'  " 

he  added,  aside  to  Ida. 

No  forced  spirits  now  !  The  innocent  fun — the  converse  of 
the  social  circle,  after  the  little  ones  had  gone — the  walk  home, 


ALONE.  173 

beneath  the  tremulous  stars — the  "  good  night"  and  pressure, 
whose  thrill  lingered  in  her  fingers  'till  sleep  sealed  her  eyes — 
all  were  sources  of  unutterable  pleasure — pleasures  born  from 
one  influence — flowing  from  one  presence. 

A  month  later,  Josephine  returned  from  an  evening  concert, 
with  a  violent  toothache,  the  consequence  of  the  sudden  transition 
from  the  steaming  hall  to  the  ice-cold  air  without.  She  tossed 
and  groaned  in  agony  through  the  night ;  by  morning  the  pain 
abated,  a  relief  for  which  she  was  wickedly  ungrateful,  when  she 
beheld  reflected  in  the  mirror,  a  tumefaction  of  the  cheek,  nearly 
closing  one  eye,  and  otherwise  marring  the  symmetry  of  her 
features.  The  pain  came  back  at  intervals  during  the  day; 
and  with  fretfulness,  threw  her  into  a  fever.  Dr.  Ballard  was 
sent  for.  It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  she  awoke  from  the 
slumber,  gained  by  the  anodyne  he  administered.  The  rain  was 
plashing  against  the  window ;  there  was  no  other  sound  except 
a  subdued  murmur  of  distant  voices.  There  were  visitors  in  the 
parlor — who  had  ventured  through  the  storm  ?  Her  sharpened 
senses  caught  manly  tones — tones  she  thought  she  recognised  ; 
and  then  Ida's  rippling,  joyous  laugh  smote  her  unwilling  ear. 
The  conversation  became  lower  and  more  serious;  and  she 
could  endure  no  more.  Unmindful  of  health  and  prudence,  she 
hurried  on  a  dressing-gown,  wrapped  a  shawl  about  her  head, 
and  glided  down  stairs,  as  stealthily  as  a  cat.  The  front  room 
only  was  warmed  and  lighted,  but  the  folding-doors  were  ajar. 
Mr.  Lacy  stood  by  the  mantel,  hat  in  hand,  yet  in  no  hurry  to 
depart.  He  was  playing  with  a  rosebud  he  had  plucked  from  a 
vase  near,  but  as  unconscious  of  its  beauty  as  of  the  lateness  of  the 
hour.  The  expression  with  which  he  regarded  the  earnest  speaker 
before  him  was  not  to  be  mistaken.  It  even  seemed  that  he 
would  have  it  understood,  for  a  proud  smile  trembled  over  hia 
mouth  as  her  eye  avoided  his. 

Josephine  felt  turned  to  stone.  By  a  singular  fatality,  she 
had,  up  to  this  time,  remained  ignorant  of  the  growing  intimacy 
between  these  two.  We  have  seen  that  many  of  their  inter- 
views were  unknown  to  her,  although  some  of  them  occurred  in 
her  very  presence;  and  Ida,  in  obedience  to  Lynn's  caution,  had 
guarded  against  any  appearance  of  rivalship.  Now,  jealousy 
and  perception  awoke  together — at  one  sweeping  glance  back- 
15* 


174  ALONE. 

ward,  she  saw  herself  slighted — foiled — duped !  and  she  grew 
faint  at  the  sight  of  the  frightful  results  of  her  lack  of  vigilance, 
which  rushed  overwhelmingly  upon  her  mind.  Her  native 
shrewdness  soon  came  to  her  aid.  Matters  were  not  so  despe- 
rate. There  was  no  word  of  love; — she  breathed  more  freely. 
"  Not  yet !  not  yet !"  she  hissed,  under  her  breath ; — and  the 
small  hands  clenched  in  passionate  resolve,  as  she  added — 
"never!"  The  leave-taking  was  full  of  feeling,  but  friends 
parted  as  kindly.  The  outer  door  clanged  to ;  and  Ida  sank  into 
her  chair.  Buried  in  the  cushions,  she  sat,  looking  into  the 
blaze,  a  smile  of  ineffable  tenderness  illumining  her  face;  her 
cheeks  bright  with  unwonted  scarlet.  The  patter  of  the  rain 
upon  the  panes  but  lulled  her  into  deeper  reverie.  And  in  con- 
trast to  a  foreground  so  rich  and  warm,  in  its  glowing  colors  and 
balmy  air,  and  dreams  of  love  and  hope — was  the  dark,  chill 
background,  with  its  shape  of  evil,  hideous  in  her  distorted  fea- 
tures and  glowering  hatred.  Ida  stooped  suddenly.  It  was  to 
pick  up  the  bruised  bud  Morton  had  dropped.  She  looked 
around  hurriedly,  and  with  a  more  vivid  blush,  raised  it  to  her 
lips,  and  hid  it  in  her  bosom. 

"  Rose-buds  are  not  the  only  things  which  are  played  with  for 
a  time,  then  trampled  under  foot,  as  you  shall  learn  ere  long, 
my  love-lorn  damsel  I"  said  the  wily  schemer,  stealing  back  to 
her  chamber. 

"  With  us,  now,  it  is  war  to  the  death  !" 


CHAPTER    XV 

NOTHING  appeared  less  likely,  at  this  period,  than  the  fulfil- 
ment of  Lynn's  prognostications  of  his  destiny.  He  collected 
encouragement  and  praise  at  every  turn.  A  Bayard  in  society — 
a  Raphael  at  the  easel,  he  bore  a  distinguished  part  in  the  lioni- 
zation  of  the  day.  He  sped  well,  too,  in  his  wooing.  A  quick 
fancy  and  impressible  heart  could  hardly  resist  the  attractions 
of  his  person  and  genius ;  and  the  spice  of  coquetry,  generally 
predominant  in  Ellen's  disposition,  lay  dormant,  as  she  heark- 
ened to  the  voice  of  love.  She  made  but  one  reservation  in 


ALONE.  176 

pledging  him  her  troth — that  their  engagement  should  be  secret. 
He  would  have  had  it  proclaimed  through  the  land — he  so  joyed 
in  the  bliss  he  had  won  ;  but  he  bowed  to  the  scarcely  uttered 
wish,  respecting  the  maiden  modesty  that  dictated  the  request. 
To  Ida  and  Charley  it  was  divulged.  He  would  not  accept  a 
happiness  they  were  forbidden  to  share.  For  a  few  brief  weeks 
this  knew  no  shade  or  diminution;  but  a  change  came.  Ida 
discovered  it;  but  he  was  silent,  and  she  would  not  extort  con- 
fidence. It  was  a  trial  to  see  his  clouded  countenance  and  fitful 
spirits;  yet  she  knew  his  peculiarly  sensitive  organization,  and 
hoped  the  evil  was  magnified  by  its  medium.  In  this  hope  she 
finally  persuaded  him  to  speak. 

They  met  at  a  Fancy  Fair.  Ida  was  in  an  embowered  recess, 
Mr.  Lacy  for  a  companion,  and  Charley  hanging  around  to  play 
propriety.  Lynn  entered  alone,  and  did  not  attach  himself  to 
any  person  or  party.  He  marched  from  end  to  end  of  the  room; 
with  folded  arms,  and  a  dogged  look,  too  foreign  to  him,  not  to 
impress  one  unpleasantly.  He  perceived  Ida  after  awhile,  and 
acknowledged  her  presence  by  touching  his  hat,  with  no  loss  of 
gloominess.  Ida  was  distrait;  even  Mr.  Lacy  failed  to  charm; 
and  he  was  aware  of  it.  He  guessed,  too,  from  the  direction  of 
her  eyes,  the  working  of  her  thoughts,  and  proposed  a  visit  to 
the  refreshment  table,  which  stood  in  the  path  of  the  prome- 
naders.  Lynn  could  not  brush  by  without  speaking.  The  first 
tone  of  Ida's  voice  affected  him.  The  dull  black  of  his  eyes 
became  lustrous,  and  the  long  lashes  fell  over  them  to  conceal 
the  momentary  weakness.  She  would  not  let  him  go.  She 
asked  him  questions  without  number  or  meaning,  not  waiting  for 
answers,  until  she  had  eaten  her  ice ;  when  she  gave  her  glass 
to  Mr.  Lacy,  and  with  an  apology,  his  eye  said  was  unnecessary, 
took  Lynn's  arm.  He  confessed  all,  as  she  had  determined  he- 
should.  It  was  a  common  tale;  the  scrupulousness  of  a  love, 
made  up  of  delicacy  and  truth,  and  the  thoughtless  trifling  of  a 
girl  who  felt  her  power; — so  she  explained  it,  but  the  young 
lover  mourned  the  death  of  his  first-born  hope. 

"  I  would  as  soon  speak  lightly  of  my  dead  sister,  as  tamper 
with  her  affection,"  said  he.  "  Your  excuse  that  she  does  these 
things  to  try  mine — if  you  are  right — proves  that  she  neve: 
loved  me." 


176  ALONE. 

"  But  why  did  I  say  she  applied  the  test  ?  In  girlish  caprice 
— foolish  enough — but  harmless  as  to  intention.  Have  you  for- 
gotten what  women  are  in  their  '  hour  of  ease  ?'  if  danger  or 
sorrow  menaced  you,  she  would  stand  by  you  to  the  last.  She 
loves  you,  Lynn, — I  am  assured  of  this." 

"  Not  so  am  I.  I  called  there  this  evening.  She  had  pro- 
mised to  accompany  me  hither,  but  she  was  '  engaged  with  com- 
pany!' Those  addlepates,  Pemberton  and  Talbot  were  there, 
doling  out  their  senseless  prattle ;  and  she  was  gracious  to  them, 
repellant  to  me.  If  Pemberton  were  not  a  puppy,  I  would  not 
sleep  before  I  crossed  swords  with  him.  She  waltzed  with  him 
last  night.  I  had  told  her  that  I  would  not  invite  any  lady, 
whom  I  respected,  to  engage  in  that  most  disgusting  of  dances. 
Conceive  of  my  feelings,  when,  within  the  hour,  I  saw  her  whirl- 
ing down  the  hall  in  his  arms !  And  the  coxcomb's  insufferable 
impudence  !  if  he  thwarts  me  again,  I  will  cane  him  I" 

"  You  will  not !  Go  and  see  Ellen  to-morrow,  when  there  is 
no  one  to  annoy  you,  by  preventing  a  private  interview.  Set 
before  her  the  unkindness,  the  want  of  generosity  apparent  in 
her  conduct ;  assert  your  rights  with  dignity,  and  your  resolu- 
tion to  uphold  them." 

"  I  would  not  pain  her,  Ida.  She  has  chosen  the  easiest 
method  of  undeceiving  me;  better  this,  than  a  life-time  of 
misery  to  both.  She  said,  the  other  day,  to  a  gentle  reproach 
for  an  open  slight,  which  would  have  offended  a  vainer  man, 
mortally,  that  she  did  it  to  mislead  others.  'A  young  lady/ 
she  remarked,  <  sinks  into  a  cypher,  if  it  is  suspected  that  she 
is  betrothed.  I  have  not  had  my  lawful  amount  of  admiration 
yet/ 

< "  Ellen !'  said  I,  <  I  have  loved  you  as  man  never  loved 
woman  before ;  have  believed  you  pure  and  high-minded.  If  I 
thought  that  the  despicable  coquetry  you  insinuate,  caused  you 
to  insist  upon  the  concealment  of  our  engagement,  I  would 
trumpet  it  to  the  world,  and  then  break  it  myself!'" 

"Lynn,  remember  where  you  are!  You  are  too  harsh;  it  was 
a  jest." 

"  The  manner  displeased  me  most,  and  to-night,  when  I  saw 
those  fops — could  I  be  patient  ?" 

Their  conversation  and  saunter  were  prolonged. 


ALONE.  177 

"Are  you  going  home  to-night?"  asked  Josephine,  gaily, 
hailing  them  in  one  of  their  rounds.  "  They  are  extinguishing 
the  lamps." 

Ida  changed  color  as  she  saw  that  she  had  Mr.  Lacy's  arm. 
Lynn  observed  it,  and  waited  for  her. 

"  You  are  fast  walkers — go  on,"  said  Josephine,  at  the  door. 
As  they  passed,  Ida  had  a  view  of  Mr.  Lacy's  features.  They 
were  so  pale  and  rigid,  that  she  started.  He  answered  her  look 
of  apprehension  with  one  that  froze  her  hlood. 

What  had  she  done  to  draw  down  that  stern,  yet  sorrowful 
rohuke? 

"  The  look  you  wear 
A  heart  may  heal  or  break." 

Her  pillow  was  damp  that  night. 

Mr.  Thornton  had  obtained  a  signal  victory  in  his  first  import- 
ant cause.  Already,  his  legal  acumen  and  oratorical  powers 
marked  him  in  the  public  eye  for  usefulness  and  fame ;  and  on 
the  evening  after  the  delivery  of  the  verdict,  he  called  together 
a  band  of  select  spirits  to  rejoice  with  him.  The  banquet  was 
well  ordered ;  comprising  the  rarities  of  the  season,  and  a  variety 
of  wines,  varied  by  the  introduction  of  agreeable  non-intoxicants, 
coffee,  tea,  iced  sherbet,  etc.  These  unwonted  accompaniments  of 
a  bachelor  supper  were  looked  upon  with  an  evil  eye  by  some  of 
the  guests.  They  were  jealous  of  innovations  which  might  end  in 
puritanical  abstinence ;  and  their  fears  were  further  excited  that 
three  of  their  small  number  preferred  the  less  stimulating  beve- 
rages. That  Mr.  Lacy's  example  should  be  copied  by  Mr.  Comp- 
ton,  a  fellow-student,  was  not  surprising,  as  they  were  intimate, 
and  known  as  members  of  the  same  church;  but  at  Charles 
Dana's  rejection  of  the  social  glass,  there  was  a  hum  of  excla- 
mations and  inquiries,  which  was  calmed  by  his  imperturbability, 
and  the  polite  tact  of  the  host.  Morton  could  not  unriddle  the 
conduct  of  his  friend,  for  he  knew  that  his  most  trivial  action 
was  not  meaningless.  "  Not  a  convert,  Charley  ?"  he  said,  when 
the  rest  were  in  full  cry  after  some  inspiring  subject. 

"  Unfortunately,  no.  It  is  from  a  motive  of  expediency  that 
I  abstain  to-night." 

They  sat  together,  and  as  he  spoke,  Mr.  Lacy  chanced  to 
remark  Lynn,  who  was  opposite.  Be  drank  deeply,  but  hi? 


178  ALONE. 

potations  had  not  I  ad  time  to  ignite  the  fire  that  burned  in  his 
eyes  and  cheeks.  His  talk  was  a  volcanic  eloquence,  reckless  as 
to  course  and  consequence ;  and  his  laugh  had  the  peal  of  a 
maniac's  yell.  In  real  alarm,  Morton  turned  to  his  neighbor. 
Charley  was  on  the  alert;  not  outwardly — he  might  have  been 
more  grave  and  taciturn  than  common,  but  there  were  no  evi- 
dences of  anxiety.  Morton  divined  his  feelings,  by  a  glance  he 
saw  exchanged  between  him  and  his  heated  friend ;  a  look  of 
warning  and  appeal  on  one  side, — of  anguish,  scornful  in  its 
bitterness,  on  the  other, — and  the  torrent  rolled  on  as  before. 

During  the  giving  of  toasts,  Mr.  Lacy  and  Charley  fell  into  a 
quiet  chat,  only  pausing  to  lift  their  glasses  in  courtesy  to  the 
authors,  ignorant,  most  of  the  time,  of  the  sentiment  proposed. 
Lynn  was  more  sedate ;  from  delirium  he  was  relapsing  into  a 
comatose  state,  when  he  was  brought  to  his  feet  by  a  toast  to  his 
art,  coupled  with  a  neatly  turned  compliment  to  himself,  from 
Mr.  Thornton.  His  unpremeditated  reply  was  beautiful  and 
touching.  He  was  under  the  very  spur  of  genius ;  rich  meta- 
phors, apt  classical  allusions,  and  delicate  pathos  poured  from 
his  lips,  as  thoughts  from  his  brain  j  his  rapt  hearers  scarcely 
conscious  that  he  employed  the  machinery  of  words.  The 
applause  that  succeeded  the  last  musical  echo  was  deafening. 
For  a  moment,  the  wild  glare  that  had  distressed  Morton,  dis- 
appeared, and  with  a  happy,  grateful  smile,  he  bowed  his  thanks 
for  this  spontaneous  tribute  of  approbation  and  regard. 

"Egad!"  said  Pemberton,  "you  have  mistaken  your  calling, 
Holmes — you  had  better  burn  up  your  canvass,  and  take  to 
stump-speaking,  you'd  make  more  money  by  it." 

Angry  frowns  and  rebuking  eyes  were  directed  to  the  drunken 
speaker. 

"  If  stumps  and  blockheads  claim  kindred,  I  shall  not  need  to 
go  far  to  exercise  my  vocation/'  said  Lynn,  hotly. 

«  Ha  !  ha  !"  laughed  the  other,  with  a  violent  affectation  of 
derision. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  gentlemen  !  Mr.  Holmes  and  myself 
bave  wrestled  upon  another  battle-field,  and  I  can  afford  to  forgive 
him,  from  the  soreness  of  his  defeat.  Your  friend  and  instruct- 
ress, that  loud-tongued  virago,  Ida  Ross,  could  not  have 
uttered — " 


ALONE.  179 

Like  a  wounded  panther,  Lynn  cleared  the  table  at  a  bound, 
and  grasped  his  throat.  A  general  rush  was  made  to  the  spot, 
and  they  were  parted  before  either  sustained  serious  injury. 
Pemberton  had  drawn  a  dirk  at  the  attack,  but  it  was  wrested 
from  him  by  Mr.  Lacy.  Reconciliation  was  impossible  in  the 
excited  state  of  the  combatants.  Charley  prudently  withdrew 
his  friend,  relying  upon  time  and  reflection  to  prepare  the  mind 
of  each  for  overtures  and  concessions.  Lynn  did  not  speak  until 
they  reached  his  room;  then,  extricating  his  arm  from  Charley's 
hold,  he  demanded  in  a  high  tone,  what  had  been  his  object  in 
terminating  the  conflict.  » If  not  finished  there,  you  know  it 
must  bo  somewhere." 

"  I  do  not  see  the  necessity,"  was  the  reply.  "  It  is  a  drunken 
broil,  of  which  you  will  be  ashamed  to-morrow.  No  man  in  his 
senses  would  have  noticed  him  as  you  did.  He  shall  have  a 
cow-hiding  for  his  last  speech;  I  would  not  disgrace  a  more 
honorable  weapon  by  using  it  against  him.  I  am  mortified,  Lynn 
— I  hoped  you  were  learning  to  control  those  childish  fits  of 
passion." 

"  Am  I  to  be  crossed  and  bullied  forever  by  a  meddling  fool  ? 
Is  it  not  enough  that  he  has  helped  to  wreck  my  peace,  but  he 
must  taunt  me  with  it  ?"  cried  Lynn  passionately.  «  He  ought 
not  to  live,  and  I  do  not  care  to  !" 

"  You  certainly  are  not  fit  to  die."  said  Charley  composedly, 
"  or  you  would  not  rave  so  like  a  madman.  Be  sane  for  five 
minutes;  by  what  means  has  your  happiness  been  put  in  his 
power  ?" 

Lynn  was  a  humored,  wayward  child,  and  this  cold  severity  did 
more  to  quiet  him  than  an  hour's  rhetorical  pleading.  Charley 
listened  with  knitting  brows,  to  a  rehearsal  of  his  story  to  Ida, 
and  an  account  of  that  day's  interview  with  Ellen.  She  was 
dressed  for  a  ride  with  Mr.  Pemberton,  and  exasperated  by  this 
new  example  of  her  disrespect  to  him  in  encouraging  a  man  he 
despised — Lynn  had  spoke  hastily — angrily.  She  retorted  with 
equal  warmth,  and  after  a  turbulent  scene  they  parted.  Pem- 
berton arrived  as  he  was  leaving,  and  his  malicious  twinkle  told 
that  he  comprehended  and  enjoyed  the  state  of  affairs.  Like 
Ida,  Charley  had  never  heartily  approved  of  this  match ;  but  his 
indignation  towards  Ellen  was  none  the  less  on  this  account.  H« 


180  ALONE.. 

saw,  in  her  behaviour,  the  most  culpable  flirting,  and  he  said  BO 
to  Lynn.  He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  Convince  me  of  that  and  you  destroy  my  faith  in  woman. 
No!  I  believe  she  once  fancied  she  loved  ine;  but  I  have  become 
obnoxious  to  her.  It  is  my  fate.  The  last  dream  of  hope  is 
over — I  have  nothing  to  live  for  now." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  Charley  remained  with 
him  all  night,  an  uninvited  visitor.  His  host  neglected  him 
entirely,  never  speaking,  and  seemingly  unmindful  of  his  pre- 
sence. Whenever  Charley  awoke,  he  heard  him  pacing  the 
floor,  or  saw  the  outline  of  his  figure,  dark  and  still,  at  the 
window,  gazing  into  the  black  night. 

"  You  will  not  do  anything  in  the  settlement  of  this  nonsensi- 
cal matter  until  you  confer  with  me  ?"  requested  Charley,  on 
saying  "  Good  bye." 

"I  shall  not  move  in  the  affair,"  was  the  laconic  rejoinder. 

"  You  will  acquaint  me  with  Pemberton's  proposals  ?" 

"If  I  think  proper — yes — you  shall  know  in  good  time." 

Charley  was  going  out,  and  did  not  catch  the  exact  import  of 
these  words.  He  proceeded  with  the  business  of  the  day,  com- 
paratively at  ease.  Knowing  Pembertou  to  be  an  arrant  coward 
at  heart,  bully  as  he  was,  he  did  not  fear  a  renewal  of  the  sub- 
ject from  him. 

Ida  was  alone  that  evening.  Mr.  Head  was  in  the  country  ; 
and  Josephine,  having  waited  until  visiting  hours  were  over, 
went  off  to  bed.  Ida  liked  to  sit  up  late,  but  she  usually  pre- 
ferred the  snug  comfort  of  her  room  to  the  parlors.  To-night 
she  lingered  over  a  book,  reading  and  musing,  with  a  tincture  of 
gloom  in  her  thought-pictures.  She  was  pondering  upon  the 
instability  of  earthly  plans  and  hopes.  "  How  true  that  the 
brightest  light  produces  the  deepest  shadows!"  The  words  arose 
unexpectedly  to  her  lips.  In  the  loosely-linked  chain  of  reverie, 
she  did  not  know  fchat  they  had  their  origin  in  the  memory  of  a 
slighter  circumstance  than  a  word — in  a  look. 

Kachel  was  coming  to  sec  after  her,  and  hearing  a  ring  as  she 
tripped  by  the  front  door,  opened  it.  A  man  handed  her  a 
package  saying,  briefly,  "For  Miss  Ross,"  and  instantly 
vanished.  Ida  saw  Lynn's  hand  in  the  superscription  of  the 
bulky  parcel,  and  broke  the  seal.  Two  letters  were  within  it  j 


.    ALONE.  181 

one  directed  to  Ellen  Morris ;  the  other, — enclosing  a  miniature 
— to  herself. 

"  My  best,  truest  friend  !"  she  read,  "  I  cannot  trust  myself 
to  speak  the  farewell  my  heart  indites  to  one  who  has  been  a 
loving  and  faithful  sister  to  me.  It  would  unman  me,  and  I  have 
occasion  for  all  my  manliness  at  this  juncture.  I  have  no  regret 
in  the  prospect  of  leaving  a  world  where  my  horoscope  was  cast 
in  clouds  and  storm; — I  cannot  undergo  the  pangs  of  seeing 
your  grief.  Destiny  will  be  accomplished,  Ida,  however  insig- 
nificant the  instrument  with  which  it  works.  Charley  will 
inform  you  of  the  baseness  of  that  which  has  severed  the  one 
shining  thread  of  my  existence.  Heaven  grant  you  may  never 
know  the  hatefulness  of  life,  when  that  for  which  you  thought, 
toiled,  lived,  is  torn  from  you!  I  have  struck  the  reptile  who 
trailed  over  my  Eden-flowers,  and  reared  his  head  insultingly 
amid  the  ruin  he  helped  to  effect,  and  in  his  unspent  malice  he 
would  sting  me  to  death.  The  sting  of  death  is  gone !  there  will 
be  unintentional  mercy  in  the  stroke  that  releases  me.  I  have 
been  mad — I  am  calmer  now.  If  I  know  my  own  heart,  I  wish 
him  no  evil ;  I  shall  not  attempt  his  life — I  will  not  imbrue  my 
hands  in  the  blood  of  the  murdered. 

"  You  will  give  the  enclosed  to  my  poor  Ellen — <  my  Ellen  !' 
she  has  forbidden  me  to  call  her  by  that  name.  It  may  be,  she 
will  pity,  when  no  more,  the  wretch  she  could  not  love  when 
living. 

"  My  sister  and  friend  !  what  can  I  say  to  you  ?  Forgive  my 
ingratitude  in  being  willing  to  die  before  I  have  made  some  feeblo 
return  for  your  goodness!  Will  you  wear  or  keep  this  image  of 
him,  by  whom  you  were  never  forgotten — not  in  the  death- 
agony  ?  I  have  written  to  Charley,  but  he  will  not  receive  the 
letter  until  all  is  over.  I  was  unwilling  to  risk  this — its  con, 
tents  are  too  sacred.  You  are  dreaming  in  your  innocent  slum- 
bers, of  years  of  peace  and  joy — I  shall  not  close  my  eyes 
but  in  the  sleep  that  knows  no  awakening  to  care  and  woe.  <  The 
blessing  of  him  who  is  ready  to  perish'  be  upon  you ! 

"  LYNN." 

Ida's  impulse  was  to  scream  for  help ;  but  ere  her  palsied 
tongue  did  her  bidding,  the  futility  of  all  attempts  to  save  him 
16 


182  ALONE. 

Btared  upon  her ;  the  hour — nearly  midnight ;  the  illness  j>f  their 
man-servant;  Mr.  Read's  absence;  her  ignorance  of  Lynn's 
locality  or  plans  beyond  his  suicidal  intention — towered,  frown- 
ing spectres,  mountain-high,  each  with  its  sepulchral  "  Impos- 
sible !"  Some  women  would  have  swooned — some  sunk  down 
to  weep  in  impotent  despair ; — the  shock  over,  her  energetic 
spirit  rallied  to  meet  the  emergency.  He  should  be  saved  !  at 
the  peril  of  her  life,  if  need  be — what  were  personal  convenience 
and  safety  ? 

Charley — the  sagacious,  collected  friend — what  mortal  could 
do,  he  would — she  must  see  him.  Rachel  had  not  spoken,  terri- 
fied by  her  mistress'  expression  and  manner.  It  was  a  relief  to 
aid  her  in  any  way ;  she  brought,  without  a  second's  parley,  the 
cloak  and  hood  Ida  ordered,  and  equipped  herself  to  attend  her. 
"Take  the  key/'  said  Ida,  as  they  went  out  of  the  door;  and 
they  sped  on  their  way.  The  night  was  dark,  and  for  whole 
squares  not  a  light  was  visible.  Half  of  the  distance  to  Mr. 
Dana's  was  traversed  without  encountering  a  single  being,  when 
they  approached  a  lighted  door-way,  in  which  two  gentlemen 
were  standing.  Fearing  to  attract  their  attention  by  her  hurried 
gait,  Ida  slackened  her  pace,  and  pulled  her  hood  over  her  face. 
She  heard  one  say — »  If  the  spasms  do  not  return  he  may  not 
want  watchers  to-morrow  night;"  and  a  feeling  of  security  stole 
upon  her.  The  friends  of  the  suffering  would  not  molest  her, 
whose  mission  was  one  of  mercy.  A  few  squares  further  on, 
they  were  met  by  a  watchman.  Rachel  made  out  his  badge  of 
office  through  the  obscurity,  and  pressed  to  her  mistress'  side 
The  man  stopped.  His  keen  eye  discerned  her  color. 

"Your  pass!"  said  he,  confronting  Rachel. 

"  Her  mistress  is  with  her,"  answered  Ida,  emboldened  by  the 
exigency. 

He  bowed  respectfully,  and  pursued  his  beat.  Ida's  heart 
throbbed  loudly,  but  she  stifled  her  fears  by  a  reconsideration  of 
Lynn's  extremity  of  danger, — "  it  was  no  time  for  nervous  fail- 
ings." Rachel  did  not  possess  such  a  tonic,  and  had  seen  every 
shadow,  heard  every  rustle  of  the  breeze. 

Before  their  adventure  with  the  dreaded  "  guard,"  she  had 
known  that  one  of  the  gentlemen  above-mentioned  had  taken 
the  same  route  with  themselves ;  keeping,  however,  upon  the 


ALONE.  183 

other  side  of  the  street ;  and  after  Ida's  ready  response  removed 
her  apprehension  of  "the  cage"  and  Mayor's  court,  she  saw  him 
still  upon  her  track — worse  !  crossing  towards  them.  Overcome 
with  terror,  she  clutched  her  mistress'  arm,  and  by  a  frantic 
gesture,  directed  her  to  the  object  of  alarm.  He  was  within  six 
feet  of  them  ;  and  startled  by  his  proximity,  and  the  fright  of  her 
attendant,  she  stood  still.  A  minute  of  breathless  suspense,  and 
the  stranger  was  at  her  side. 

"  Miss  Koss,"  he  said,  in  a  low  but  confident  tone.  "  This  is 
a  strange  hour  for  a  lady  to  be  in  the  street  with  such  attend- 
ance !" 

His  stern,  cold  address  could  not  repress  her  thrilling  pleasure. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Lacy  l"^  she  exclaimed,  clinging  to  his  arm,  and 
giving  way,  for  the  first  time,  to  tears.  "  Life  and  death  depend 
upon  my  action — the  life  of  one  very  dear  to  us  both — you  would 
not  reproach  me  if  you  knew — " 

"  Ida  !  dear  Ida  !"  said  he,  mindful  only  of  her  sorrow.  "  Can 
there  be  reason  for  this  excessive  grief?  Your  fears  have  misled 
you.  Of  whom  do  you  speak  ?" 

She  could  not  speak  quite  yet,  but  her  sobs  were  subsiding 
under  his  soothing. 

«  Will  you  not  trust  yourself  and  our  friend  to  me,  Ida  ?" 

She  looked  up.     "  Yes,"  she  said,  simply. 

He  put  her  hand  within  his  arm.  "  First,  tell  me  where  you 
are  going." 

«  To  Mr.  Dana's." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?" 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  Charley." 

"I  will  be  the  bearer  of  your  message.  Let  me  see  you  home; 
— you  shall  give  it  to  me  on  the  way." 

She  obeyed  submissively  as  a  child. 

"  Now !"  said  he,  as  they  turned  back. 

"  I  had  a  note  from  Lynn  to-night.  It  is  worded  so  ambi- 
guously,— contains  so  many  allusions  I  do  not  understand,  that 
I  can  glean  but  this — he  has  quarrelled,  and  been  challenged  ; — 
they  fight  to-morrow,  where  or  when  I  do  not  know,  nor  the 
name  of  his  opponent.  It  is  all  a  horrible  mystery." 

It  was  more  clear  to  him.  He  related  the  incident  of  the 
altercation  at  supper,  suppressing  Pemberton's  use  of  her  name. 

"  Oh  !  can  it  be !  he  will  not  stoop  so  low  !     And  he  will  die  I 


184  ALONE. 

he  declares  his  solemn  determination  not  to  resist  the  attack. 
His  life  is  thrown  away !" 

"  Not  if  man  can  prevent  it — I  promise  you  this  much.  "When 
did  you  get  this  letter  ?" 

"  Not  an  hour  since." 

"  Why  did  you  not  send  to  Charley  or  me  ?" 

"  Mr.  Read  is  away,  and  John  sick." 

"  What  is  the  tone  of  the  note  ?  revengeful  ?" 

"  Oh,  no !  he  says  expressly — '  If  I  know  my  own  heart,  I 
wish  him  no  evil.'  He  writes,  weary  of  life,  and  relieved  at  the 
thought  of  getting  rid  of  it." 

"  <  Getting  rid'  of  the  life  God  has  bestowed  I"  repeated  he, 
indignantly.  "  Forgive  me,  Ida  !  yet  you  cannot  tolerate  this 
sentiment !  Does  he  believe  in  an  hereafter  ?  Does  he  allude 
to  it?" 

"  No — but  he  does  believe — I  have  thought,  sometimes,  with 
more  than  the  intellect.  Do  not  judge  him  hardly; — he  has 
Buffered  much  of  late ;  more  from  morbid  sensibility  than  actual 
troubles,  but  he  imagined  his  woes  too  heavy  to  be  borne.  He 
is  not  fit  to  cope  with  sorrow." 

"  None  of  us  are,  'till  we  have  been  taught  the  uses  of  afflic- 
tion. This  recklessness  is,  you  think,  more  an  impulse  than  a 
purpose  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  He  will  be  more  manageable  then,"  he  replied  encouragingly. 

The  wind  blew  roughly,  and  he  folded  her  cloak  around  her. 

"  I  recognised  you  by  this,  and  your  walk,  and  fearing  lest 
you  might  encounter  rudeness  in  your  nocturnal  ramble,  kept 
you  in  sight.  I  heard  your  voice  at  the  watchman's  challenge, 
and  concluded  to  declare  myself  your  protector.  I  have  been 
sitting  with  a  sick  friend." 

Ida  did  not  know  herself  when  they  stopped  at  the  door — her 
uneasiness  all  gone,  and  with  it  the  unnatural  strength  that 
impelled  her  venturesome  step — he  had  assumed  the  burden ; 
and  he  was  so  strong  and  sanguine,  it  did  not  oppress  him. 
With  the  mild  authority  which  had  checked  her  tears  and 
reversed  her  design,  he  bade  her  "dismiss  anxiety,  and  rest 
quietly  until  morning,  when  he  would  send  her  glad  tidings." 
And  with  the  same  child-like  docility  she  repaired  to  her  chamber, 
and  betook  herself  to  slumber. 


ALONE.  185 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

IN  the  bosom  of  the  forest,  the  tall  oaks  girdling  it,  like  a 
band  of  mailed  warriors,  changed  by  the  spell  of  beauty  from 
assailants  to  a  guard,  lay  a  little  glade,  free  from  brush  or  sapling; 
its  tender  green  carpet  freshening  in  the  March  sun.  The  trees 
loved  the  dance  of  the  shadows  over  that  sylvan  ball-room,  and 
they  revelled  there  all  the  day,  and  at  evening,  slept  upon  the 
turf  in  the  moonlight.  The  clouds  of  the  night  had  rolled  away 
before  a  westerly  breeze,  and  the  forest  was  full  of  sweet  and 
pleasant  sounds.  The  oriole  had  come  in  advance  of  the  season 
to  look  for  his  last  year's  nest ;  the  woodpecker  thrummed  upon 
a  hollow  trunk ;  and  the  robins,  too  busy  for  more  than  an  occa- 
sional note,  flew  about  with  sticks  and  mud  in  their  bills.  The 
teeming  earth  was  quick  with  vitality ;  you  could  hear  the  un- 
furling of  the  grass-blades,  the  rustle  of  the  leaf-buds  as  they 
broke  ground. 

An  inharmonious  sound  interrupted  the  concert — the  rattle 
of  a  carriage.  It  stopped;  then  another  drove  up;  and  six  gen- 
tlemen, three  from  either  side,  entered  the  glade,  saluting  each 
other  as  they  advanced.  Lynn's  friends  were  Mr.  Thornton  and 
Mr.  Villet;  Pemberton's  Talbot  and  another  of  "  the  set,"  by  the 
name  of  Watson.  Without  wasting  time  in  irrelevant  chat,  the 
seconds  walked  apart  for  consultation.  Peraberton,  with  a  bragga- 
docio air,  offered  his  cigar-case  to  his  companion ;  and  nothing 
abashed  by  his  dignified  gesture  of  refusal,  planted  himself 
against  a  tree,  and  began  to  smoke.  Lynn  paced  the  little  area 
in  silence.  He  was  haggard  to  ghastliness ;  the  effect  of  a  night 
of  sleeplessness  and  racking  thought.  He  was  brave;  his  nerves 
did  not  tremble  in  the  hour  of  peril ;  but  the  soul,  forced,  before 
its  time,  upon  the  verge  of  an  unknown  sea,  shook  with  a  name- 
less dread  of  the  punishment  of  its  temerity.  Early  teachings, 
and  the  convictions  of  later  years  weighed  upon  him.  A  tiny 
wild  flower  blossomed  by  his  foot — he  plucked  it,  and  pressed 
its  petals  open  with  his  finger.  Whose  hand  had  fashioned  it  ? 
Whose  sun  kissed  it  into  bloom  ?  WThose  goodness  granted  it 
16* 


186  ALONE. 

this  lovely  home  ?  It  owed  its  little  life  to  the  Father,  from 
whom  he  had  derived  his  poet-soul ;  it  had  fulfilled  the  end  ol 
its  creation ; — he  was  about  to  hurl  his  gifts,  a  million  times 
more  precious,  into  the  face  of  the  Giver.  He  would  gladly 
have  courted  other  thoughts,  but  these  would  come ;  and  long- 
forgotten  texts  floated  before  him ;  apparently  without  a  cause 
to  call  them  forth.  One  met  him,  wherever  he  looked — "  Des- 
pisest  thou  the  riches  of  his  forbearance,  and  love  and  long- 
suffering?'5  And  as  he  repeated,  "despisest  thou" — another — 
"  Behold,  ye  despisers,  and  wonder  and  perish!"  These  words 
were  upon  his  tongue,  as  Mr.  Villet  put  the  pistol  into  his  hand, 
and  motioned  him  into  his  place. 

Pemberton  had  sent  the  challenge,  with  no  thought  of  its 
being  accepted,  counting  upon  the  interference  of  Lynn's  friends. 
Mr.  Thornton  had  waited  upon  him  with  his  principal's  answer, 
settling  time,  place  and  weapons;  driving  him  into  a  corner, 
from  whence  he  could  only  escape  by  following  out  his  own 
proposition.  A  strained  sense  of  honour  was  Lynn's  birth- 
right. His  father  had  died  upon  the  field ;  and  repudiation  of 
the  duellist's  code  involved  censure  of  him.  Thus  they  stoodj 
face  to  face,  upon  this  unclouded,  fragrant  spring  morning,  to 
wash  out  in  blood  the  memory  of  a  trifle  which  would  have 
perished  of  itself  in  this  time,  but  for  the  pains  they  had  taken 
to  perpetuate  it.  Oh,  Virginia !  most  fondly  loved  of  mothers  ! 
how  often  has  thy  soil  drank  the  blood  of  sons,  the  tears  of 
daughters,  whose  lives  and  weal  have  been  sacrificed  to  this 
pitiless  Moloch ! 

Mr.  Talbot  explained  that  the  signal  was  to  be  the  dropping 
of  a  handkerchief,  after  he  should  have  counted  three  slowly. 
Mr.  Villet  held  the  handkerchief  "  One — two — "  said  Tal- 
bot, deliberately.  Lynn  had  only  time  to  see  the  murder  in  his 
antagonist's  eye,  when  a  report  rang  through  the  forest,  and 
he  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  his  breast  and  arm. 

"  Treachery  !"  shouted  Thornton,  excitedly.  "  Shoot  him 
down,  Holmes !  he  deserves  a  dog's  death!" 

Lynn's  hot  blood  was  up — he  raised  his  arm.  The  loaded  and 
discharged  pistols  were  whirling  in  the  air — and  Charley  Dana 
and  Morton  Lacy  threw  themselves  between  the  combatants. 

"  At  whose  instance  was  this  meeting  brought  about,  gentle- 
men ?"  questioned  the  former,  peremptorily,  scanning  the  group. 


ALONE.  187 

"  The  challenge  came  from  my  principal/'  answered  Watson, 
with  a  brazen  look. 

"  Will  you  honour  me  by  a  minute's  private  conversation, 
sir?"  asked  Charley,  facing  Pemberton,  with  a  sneer  seen  by 
him  alone.  "  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  he  pursued,  not  receiving 
an  immediate  reply,  "  I  do  not  carry  concealed  weapons." 

Pemberton  went  aside  with  him  very  reluctantly.  He 
respected,  because  he  feared  Charley.  Without  a  correct  under- 
standing of  his  character,  he  stood  in  awe  of  the  keen  ridicule 
and  calm  courage,  for  which  his  blustering  was  no  match. 

"  You  must  be  at  a  loss  for  something  to  do,  that  you  covet 
such  business  as  this;"  began  Charley.  "I  have  no  objection 
to  your  blowing  your  brains  out — and  any  coroner  in  the  country 
would  decide  that  an  inquest  would  be  'much-ado  about  nothing;' 
but  it  is  another  matter  when  you  try,  in  cold  blood,  to  take  the 
life  of  one,  who  has  some  pretensions  to  the  name  of  man.  You 
are  a  cowardly  poltroon  1  If  you  are  on  the  look-out  for  insults, 
there  is  one,  if  truth  can  insult.  Two  policemen  are  at  a  little 
distance.  The  law  will  have  a  more  serious  job  than  I  antici- 
pated. There  are  five  witnesses  to  the  fact,  that  you  fired  in 
advance  of  the  time.  Join  this  to  your  provocation  of  the  other 
night,  and  your  having  sent  the  challenge;  and  it  will  not 
require  a  Philadelphia  lawyer  to  make  out  a  case,  which  will 
put  a  stop  to  your  murderous  propensities  for  awhile.  Now,  sir, 
what  do  you  propose  to  do?" 

The  bully  shook  visibly.  "Keally,  Mr.  Dana,  this  is  an 
extraordinary  procedure.  You  and  I  have  no  quarrel." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — m-en  of  honour  do  not  pass  over  such 
remarks  as  I  have  indulged  in.  You  did  not  hear  me,  perhaps ; 
I  said,  and  say  now,  you  are  a  pitiful  poltroon !  shaking  in  your 
shoes,  this  minute,  at  the  prospect  of  the  penitentiary,  and  the 
loss  of  your  soap-locks.  But  before  I  give  you  into  the  keeping 
of  your  lawful  guardians,  I  have  a  proposal  to  make  on  my  own 
account.  I  came  here  with  the  intention  of  giving  you  a  casti- 
gation  for  your  impertinent  mention  of  a  lady.  I  will  not  fight 
a  duel  with  you,  but  if  you  resist,  I  will  take  care  you  do  not 
shoot  me.  I  meant  to  horse-whip  you,  and  I  will — within  an 
inch  of  your  life,  if  you  do  not  make  an  ample  apology.  You 
cannot  bully  or  blarney  me,  Pemberton.  We  know  each  other." 


188  ALONE. 

In  abject  terms,  he  declared  that  he  had  the  highest  venera- 
tion for  Mr.  Dana's  friend,  Miss  Ross ;  he  was  in  wine  at  the 
time  spoken  of,  and  was  unaware,  until  told  of  it,  that  he  had 
mentioned  her — 

"That  will  do!"  interposed  Charley.  "Are  you  ready  to 
rejoin  your  friends?" 

11  You  will  not  do  me  this  great  injury,  Mr.  Dana !  think  of 
the  exposure — the  disgrace !  A  duel  is  an  honourable  affair,  if 
carried  out;  but  when  it  takes  a  turn  like  this,  you  will  admit 
it  looks  confoundedly  mean." 

Charley  could  not  but  smile  at  his  ludicrously  pathetic  tone. 

"  Will  you  bind  yourself  to  behave  better  to  your  superiors — 
Mr.  Holmes  included — if  I  help  you  out  of  the  scrape  ?" 

The  pledge  was  eagerly  given. 

"  Your  best  plan  will  be  to  state  to  the  company  that,  in  con- 
sequence of  explanations  made  by  me,  you  retract  the  challenge, 
and  likewise  the  offensive  remark  that  provoked  Mr,  Holmes  to 
assault  you.  Offer  your  hand  to  him,  with  the  best  grace  you 
can  muster ;  jump  into  your  carriage — and  you  shall  not  be 
pursued." 

The  seconds  were  huddled  together,  talking  of  the  novel  phase 
of  the  affair  ;  Lynn  and  Morton  walking  to  and  fro ;  the  latter 
speaking  earnestly,  while  Lynn's  averted  face  showed  he  was  not 
unmoved.  Pemberton  obeyed  instructions  to  the  letter;  and 
with  a  trepidation  and  hurry  which  nearly  betrayed  Charley  into 
a  disgrace  of  the  dignity  of  the  occasion.  After  a  gra^p  at 
Lynn's  hand,  he  bowed  hastily,  summoned  his  attendants,  and 
disappeared  among  the  trees.  The  crack  of  the  driver's  whip 
proclaimed  his  departure.  Thornton  and  Villet  were  profuse 
in  their  inquiries,  but  they  were  little  wiser  for  Charley's  replies. 
An  exclamation  from  Morton  interrupted  them. 

"  You  are  wounded !"  said  he,  pointing  to  Lynn's  arm,  from 
which  the  blood  was  oozing. 

"  Only  a  scratch,"  replied  he. 

Charley  ripped  up  his  sleeve ;  uncovering  a  flesh  wound  of 
no  great  depth.  The  ball  had  passed  between  his  side  and  arm. 
grazing  both  ; — its  aim  was  the  heart. 

"  If  I  had  seen  this  sooner  !"  said  Charley,  involuntarily. 

«  What  if  you  had  ?"  inquired  Lynn. 


ALONE.  189 

He  made  no  reply,  but  proceeded  to  bind  up  the  wound. 
"  Gentlemen  !"  said  he,  when  he  had  done ; — "  your  carriage 
and  breakfast  are  waiting.  I  take  it,  you  have  nothing  more 
on  hand  this  morning." 

Thornton  and  Yillet  bowed,  half-offended ;  Lynn  lingered. 
"  How  are  you  going  back  ?"  he  asked  of  Morton,  but  looking 
at  Charley. 

«  Our  horses  are  not  far  off,"  answered  the  former,  kindly. 
"  We  will  see  you  again  in  an  hour  or  two." 

"  Coming!"  responded  Lynn,  to  his  friends'  impatient  call. 
He  looked  again  to  Charley's  grave  face,  beseechingly  and 
timidly ;  but  could  not  summon  courage  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Do  not  punish  him  too  severely,  Charley/'  said  Morton. 
He  turned  from  him  without  speaking.  He  had  never  seen  him 
so  affected  before.  They  were  alone  in  the  glade ;  and  the 
birds,  silenced  for  a  time  by  human  voices,  were  heard  again 
twittering  in  the  boughs.  Charley  spoke  at  length. 

"  I  have  been  deceived,  Lacy.  I  thought  I  knew  men,  and 
was  prepared  for  any  inconsistency  j  but  if  I  had  been  told  that 
the  man,  cherished  for  years  as  a  brother,  would  mislead  me 
purposely  in  a  matter  of  vital  importance  to  us  both,  I  would  not 
have  credited  it.  I  had  his  promise,  or  what  amounted  to  a 
promise,  that  he  would  not  stir  without  consulting  me.  What 
weakness !"  he  continued,  more  agitated,  "  to  abandon  fame  and 
friends  and  life,  because  of  a  fancied  slight  from  a  woman  !" 

"  Yet  are  we  guiltless  of  similar  failings  ?"  said  Morton, 
impressively.  "  Have  there  not  been  times  when  we  too  were 
impatient — despairing — for  no  more  weighty  cause?  My  dear 
Charley,  let  us  judge  leniently  errors  into  which  we  might  have 
fallen,  but  for  greater  strength  or  less  powerful  temptation. 
Disapproval  and  forgiveness  are  not  incompatible." 

"  You  have  witnessed  the  one — will  you  be  the  bearer  of  the 
other?"  asked  Charley,  trying  to  smile.  "  I  will  not  oblige  him 
to  ask  it.  He  has  had  humiliation  enough  for  one  day." 

Mr.  Lacy's  first  care,  upon  their  return  to  the  city,  was  to 
dispatch  a  note  to  Ida.  It  merely  announced  the  success  of  their 
expedition ;  the  means  adopted  to  secure  it,  she  gathered  from 
Charley.  They  had  gone  together,  first  to  Lynn's  then  to 
Pemberton's  lodgings,  when  Charley  had  been  informed  of  the 


190  ALONE. 

projected  meeting.  They  were  reported  "  not  at  home."  They 
then  hit  upon  the  unpromising  expedient  of  going  to  every  hack- 
stand in  the  city,  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  at  what  time  the  party 
was  to  start  in  the  morning,  and  its  route.  They  failed,  in  two 
or  three  cases  to  arouse  the  keepers ;  and  from  others  received 
unimportant  and  surly  replies.  Charley  had  just  asked,  "Do 
you  mean  to  give  it  up  ?"  and  been  answered  by  a  firm  "  Never !" 
when  a  negro  bustled  by  them.  Morton  seized  him  by  the 
shoulder,  and  led  him  to  an  apothecary's  lamp. 

"I  thought  so!" 

"  I've  got  a  pass.     Let  me  go  !"  said  the  fellow,  struggling. 

"Not  until  I  know  where  you  have  been.  You  are  Mr. 
Talbot's  servant — you  may  gain  something,  and  shall  not  lose, 
by  answering  me  civilly.  What  were  you  sent  for  ?" 

By  smooth  and  harsh  words,  he  was  brought  to  acknowledge 
that  his  "  young  master"  having  had  company  all  the  evening, 
had  forgotten,  until  late,  to  send  him  to  a  livery-stable  to  engage 
a  carriage  for  five  o'clock  next  morning. 

"  Who  is  with  him,  besides  Mr.  Pemberton  ?"  inquired 
Mr.  Lacy. 

«  Mr.  Watson,  sir." 

"  How  far  are  they  to  go,  after  crossing  the  river  ?" 

"  Lor  !  Massa !  how  you  reckon  I  know  ?" 

«  No  trifling,  sir  !  If  I  wanted  to  create  mischief,  you  have 
said  enough.  Tell  me  everything,  or  I  will  go  at  once  to  your 
master  !" 

The  man  instantly  named  their  destination,  which  his  master 
had  let  slip  in  his  hearing ;  and  added  that  they  were  "  fixing 
pistols."  The  information  was  corroborated  by  a  call  upon  the 
liveryman,  and  they  acted  upon  it.  The  delay,  which  was  so 
near  being  fatal,  arose  from  their  ignorance  of  a  newer  and 
shorter  road  than  they  chose. 

"  How  Lacy  guessed  their  intentions,  I  cannot  imagine,"  said 
Charley.  "  He  would  not  entrust  to  me  the  name  of  his  infor- 
mant; and  Lynn  is  as  much  in  the  dark.  He  brought  your 
letter  to  the  door  after  he  was  sure  you  had  retired  and  mine 
was  left  upon  his  desk.  But  Lacy  is  discreet  from  principle, 
not  from  caprice." 

"  He  is,"  said  Ida  with  heightened  color.  "  If  any  stigma 
attaches  to  the  informer,  it  must  rest  upon  me  " 


ALONE.  191 

"  Just  like  him,  noble-hearted  and  faithful !"  exclaimed 
Charley,  when  her  story  was  ended.  «  Shall  you  tell  Lynn  ?" 

"  Yes — if  only  to  show  him  how  his  friends  love  him.  He 
may  view  it  as  a  breach  of  confidence,  but  I  had  rather  he  should 
reproach  me,  than  suspect  the  innocent." 

Whether  he  reproached  her  or  not,  the  revelation  did  not 
diminish  his  regard  for  her.  Except  at  their  first  agitating 
interview,  he  never  adverted  to  the  unfinished  duel;  but  he 
seemed  drawn  to  her  by  a  new  tie,  in  the  recollection  of  her 
readiness  to  adventure  so  much  in  his  behalf.  Ellen  Morris  had 
left  town  for  a  visit  to  Petersburg,  the  day  after  the  rupture  : — 
left  without  a  message  or  line  of  penitence  or  conciliation.  Lynn 
did  not  complain,  but  his  moodiness  subsided  into  a  pensivenes,s, 
illumined  by  the  flashes  of  his  former  animation,  like  the  sparkle 
of  smouldering  embers. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  gleams  that  he  spent  the  evening 
at  the  rendezvous  of  what  Josephine  styled  the  "  Dana  clique." 
John  Dana  and  his  amiable  wife  were  great  favorites  of  his  and 
Mr.  Lacy's.  Their  friendly  calls  may  have  been  more  frequent 
because  it  was  Ida's  chief  visiting  place.  Mr.  Dana  was  in  New 
York,  and  she  had  dined  and  taken  tea  with  her  friend. 

Lynn  came  in  with  Charley,  and  the  latter,  excusing  himself 
for  an  hour  after  supper,  left  Ida  and  the  young  artist  together. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  lately,  how  sublime  a  thing  is  phi- 
lanthropy," said  Lynn,  throwing  himself  with  boyish  abandon, 
upon  the  rug  at  her  feet.  "I  welcome  this  train  of  thought 
as  a  sign,  that  I  am  growing  less  selfish,  for  I  have  been 
sadly,  sinfully  selfish,  Ida — madly  intent  upon  my  schemes, 
ruy  happiness — forgetting  that  God  placed  me  in  the  world 
to  benefit  others.  Lacy  was  in  my  studio  to-day,  and  we  had 
a  talk  upon  this  subject.  He  says  there  is  always  a  reflex  tide 
of  the  happiness  we  send  forth  to  those  around  us;  a  purer, 
truer  joy  than  self-gratification.  <In  this  respect/  he  observed, 
1  we  can  best  imitate  the  example  of  our  Supreme  Benefactor.' 
Imitate  our  Creator,  Ida !  that  is  something  worth  living  for." 

"  You  have  much  besides,  to  make  life  precious,  Lynn.  I 
remember  when  it  seemed  worthless  to  me ;  when  I  thought  I 
had  tasted  all  the  sweetness  it  possessed — I  have  changed  my 
opinion  since." 


192  ALONE. 

« Ah !  but  you  have  never  bowed  soul  and  spirit  to  an  idol, 
and  '  found  it  clay ;'  never  realised  ia  the  dread  hour  that  saw 
its  demolition,  that  the  fairest  growth  of  heart  and  mind — the 
plants  which  you  flattered  yourself  were  climbing  heavenward, 
had  only  twined  themselves  with  strengthening  tendrils  about 
the  altar  of  that  one  love !  I  know  the  meaning  of  the  expres- 
sion, <  broken  cisterns,  which  can  hold  no  water/  I  have  felt 
for  some  time  past  as  if  my  heart  were  a  stagnant  marsh,  flooded 
by  wasted  affections  To-day  I  have  been  happier,  more  hopeful. 
I  will  begin  life  anew,  and  strive  for  my  art  and  for  my  kind." 

"  I  have  often  told  you  that  you  have  rare  qualifications  for 
usefulness,"  rejoined  Ida.  "  Your  besetting  fault  is  unsteadi- 
ness of  purpose;  the  best  resolutions  avail  nothing  if  they  are  not 
adhered  to." 

"  I  know  it.  I  dare  not  say  now,  that  I  will  keep  my  present 
frame  of  mind  until  to-morrow ;  but  I  do  feel  as  if  a  broad  field 
were  spread  before  me,  and  a  bright,  bright  heaven  over-arched 
it.  I  can  think  and  speak  of  Ellen ;  I  comfort  myself  by  ima- 
gining that  our  separation  is  for  our  mutual  good — our  charac- 
ters required  discipline,  and  dimly  in  the  future  I  see  visions  of 
reconciliation  and  re-union."  Poor  boy !  the  idol  was  not  gone 
yet !  He  sat  in  an  attitude  of  careless  grace,  his  hand  support- 
ing his  cheek,  and  the  light  falling  upon  his  upturned  face. 
"  Yes,"  he  continued,  thoughtfully.  "  I  am  convinced  that  my 
life  has  been  spared  for  some  important  end,  and  I  will  work  it 
out,  whenever  Providence  designates  the  ways  and  means  of  its 
accomplishment.  I  do  not  overlaud  my  ability;  for  youth,  and 
health,  and  energy,  are  almost  omnipotent,  and  I  am  young,  and 
strong,  and  willing." 

"  You  will  not  be  offended  if  I  aid  you  in  the  work  ?"  asked 
Ida. 

"  No ;  and  I  anticipate  your  warning.  You  would  say  that 
Belf-conquest  lies  at  the  base  of  all  other  victories.  Ah !  you  will 
yet  be  ashamed  of  your  incredulity  as  to  my  regeneration.  That 
is  Charley's  voice,  he  has  brought  Lacy,  too !  I  am  glad !" 

Ida  was  more  than  glad.  She  had  seen  him  since  their  mid- 
night walk,  but  Josephine's  presence  bad  debarred  her  from 
even  a  look  of  acknowledgment. 

Mrs.  Dana  came  down  stairs,  and  completed  the  fireside 
group. 


ALONE.  193 

"  What  have  you  two  been  prosing  about  ?"  asked  Charley, 
presently. 

« I  have  been  talking — Miss  Ida  listening,"  said  Lynn. 
«  She  has  no  faith  in  my  determination  to  play  <  good  boy/  and 
as  she  knows  me  better  than  I  do  myself,  I  am  uneasy  for  the 
durability  of  my  excellent  resolve.  Do  say  something  encour- 
aging, Lacy." 

"  What  is  this  reformation  ?  of  mind  or  manner  ?"  inquired 
Morton. 

"  Mind,  manner,  heart  and  will.  I  have  been  a  wilful  trou- 
blesome child  all  my  life  ;  I  mean,  from  this  time  forward,  to  be 
a  man." 

"  And  how  are  you  setting  about  it  ?" 

"  Oh !  I  am  theorising  now.  I  have  no  distinct  object,  except 
to  do  the  best  I  can ;  to  mortify  evil  passions,  to  uproot  selfish 
desires,  to  foster  the  germs  of  good  in  myself  and  others." 

Mr.  Lacy  smiled,  a  little  sadly.  "  You  have  undertaken  a 
Sisyphus  task,  if  you  heave  the  stone  up  the  hill  in  your  own 
strength." 

Lynn  looked  dismayed.  "  Yet  it  is  our  duty  to  do  all  this. 
The  Scriptures,  for  whose  infallibility  you  contend,  set  a  higher 
standard  of  faith  and  practice  than  I  have  done." 

"  But  they  tell  us  in  so  many  words,  <  Ye  can  of  yourselves 
do  nothing.'  Who  can  say,  <  I  have  made  my  heart  clean — 1 
am  pure  from  my  sin  ?' " 

"  You  do  not  agree  with  the  fanatics  who  denounce  morality, 
I  hope,"  said  Charley.  "  I  heard  one  hold  forth  last  Sabbath. 
He  told  us  'our  righteousness  was  as  filthy  rags.'  I  had  read  my 
Bible,  and  knew  that;  but  he  heated  Gehenna  seven  times 
hotter  for  'ye  miserable  moralists'  than  for  the  vilest  outcast 
that  ever  dishonored  the  image  in  which  he  was  made.  I  make 
no  pretensions  to  piety,  but  I  endeavour  to  do  my  duty  to  my 
fellow-men ;  to  hate  none,  and  help  all.  I  go  to  church  because 
[  think  it  right,  if  only  for  the  example  I  set  to  others  5  I  don't 
expect  my  good  works  to  be  a  passport  to  heaven ;  but  I  thought, 
as  I  listened  to  him,  that  his  orthodoxy  and  zeal,  without  charity, 
would  profit  him  nothing." 

"  You  were  probably  nearer  right  than  he  j"  said  Mr.  Lacy. 
'« I  do  not  decry  morality.  Reason  teaches  us  that  the  benevo- 
17 


194  ALONE. 

lent  citizen,  the  honest  tradesman,  the  kind  parent  and  husband, 
find  more  favour  in  the  eyes  of  a  righteous  judge  than  the  rioter, 
the  cheat,  the  debauchee  and  tyrant.  Much  injury  is  done  to 
religion  by  the  mistaken  zeal  of  its  advocates.  This  was  not  the 
spirit  of  its  Founder.  To  me,  the  history  of  the  young  ruler, 
who  came  to  Christ,  is  one  of  the  most  affecting  in  the  New  Tes- 
tament. He  was  not  driven  away  by  disheartening  rebukes; 
but  'Jesus,  looking  on  him,  loved  him/  How  tenderly  must  he 
-have  uttered — 'But  one  thing  thou  lackest !'  " 

"  But  how  unnatural  is  the  finale !"  said  Lynn.  "  '  And  he 
went  away  sorrowful,  for  he  had  great  possessions.7  He  let  his 
lucre  outweigh  his  soul !" 

"Take  care  how  you  condemn!"  said  Charley.  "There 
are  ( possessions'  besides  silver  and  gold,  which  clog  a  man's 
steps.  Love  of  pleasure  has  ruined  more  souls  than  love  of 
gain." 

"And  procrastination  more  than  both  together;"  added  Mor- 
ton. 

Ida  looked  at  Charley.  «  Do  you  remember  our  conversation 
after  the  protracted  meeting,  last  summer?"  asked  she.  "  I  felt, 
when  you  spoke  of  Death  and  Eternity,  that  I  could  never  close 
my  eyes  again  in  peace ;  but  the  impression  wore  off;  and  we 
are  here,  to-night,  it  may  be,  no  better  prepared  for  our  inevi- 
table change  than  we  were  then." 

"Yet  we  are  content  to  hunt  for  the  motives  of  this  inconsis- 
tency of  belief  and  action,  instead  of  rectifying  it !"  said  Mr. 
Lacy,  seriously. 

"  You  predestinarians  may  excuse  us  upon  the  ground  that  wo 
are  waiting  the  '  set  time ;'  "  remarked  Charley. 

"  God's  time  is  <  now  ;'  "  answered  his  friend.  "  <  To-mor- 
row' comes  with  a  note  of  warning — '  Boast  not  thyself  of  to- 
morrow;' e  To-day  is — to-morrow  is  cast  into  the  oven/  " 

"  You  have  battered  my  scaffolding,  and  not  provided  me  with 
another ;"  cried  Lynn.  "  You  say  I  am  helpless,  yet  cry,  '  the 
night  cometh !' " 

Mr.  Lacy  took  a  Bible  from  the  table,  and  handing  it  to  Ida, 
requested  her  to  read  aloud  the  passages  he  pointed  out. 

"  '  Then  said  they  unto  him ;  "What  shall  we  do  that  we 
might  work  the  works  of  God  ?  Jesus  answered,  and  said  unto 


ALONE.  195 

them :  this  is  the  work  of  God  that  ye  believe  on  him  whom  he 
hath  sent ;'  and  <  Knowing  that  a  man  is  not  justified  by  the 
works  of  the  law,  but  by  the  faith  of  Jesus  Christ,  even  we  have 
believed  in  Jesus  Christ,  that  we  might  be  justified  by  the  faith 
of  Christ,  and  not  by  the  works  of  the  law/  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Lynn.     "  Then  I  am  to  do  nothing  T' 

"  Nothing  as  yet,  but  believe  and  trust.  Having  enlisted  in 
the  service,  you  will  not  be  left  idle.  But  I  am  overstaying  my 
time ;  I  engaged  to  meet  a  friend  at  half-past  nine,  and  it  is 
nearly  ten.  I  had  rather  stay  here,  but  good  night,  never- 
theless." 

"  And  I  have  not  thanked  him  !"  thought  Ida,  disappointed 
— but — 

"Miss  Ida  !"  called  Charley,  from  the  porch.  "  Come,  see 
this  cloud  !" 

A  pile  of  snow-clouds  was  heaving  up  towards  the  moon, 
which  fringed  their  jagged  outlines  with  silver,  unearthly  bright 
from  the  blackness  below. 

"  You  would  say,  { gloomily  beautiful ;'  "  said  Mr.  Lacy. 

He  was  close  beside  her,  and  approachable  as  ever;  and  Char- 
ley held  Mrs.  Dana  and  Lynn  in  conversation.  In  one  sentence, 
she  expressed  her  sense  of  obligation,  and  her  regret  that  he  had 
had  so  much  trouble  in  executing  her  commission.  His  face  was 
in  the  shade,  but  she  felt  his  look. 

"  Nothing  is  a  trouble  to  me,  that  promotes  your  happiness." 

She  went  back  to  the  parlor,  with  a  tumultuous  joy  at  heart. 
The  full  significance  of  his  words  she  did  not  understand  till  long 
afterwards. 

"  Mr.  Lacy  should  study  for  the  ministry  ;"  said  Mrs.  Dana. 

"He  does  more  good  as  he  is;"  replied  Charley,  stoutly.  "If 
all  Christians  performed  their  duty  as  well,  you  and  I  would  live 
to  see  the  Millennium.  He  can  reach  meiv,  who  would  fly  at 
the  glimpse  of  a  white  cravat.  There  is  some  charm  about  the 
man ;  his  religion  is  a  part  of  himself;  and  he  carries  it  every- 
where he  goes.  I  have  seen  the  wildest  fellows  I  know,  cluster 
around  him,  and  introduce  the  subject,  for  the  pleasure  of  hear- 
ing him  talk.  He  knows  when  to  begin,  and  when  to  leave  off. 
He  says  plain  things  to  me ;  I  might  knock  down  another  man 
who  took  the  liberty ;  I  thank  him,  and  am  sincere  in  so  doing." 


196  ALONE. 

"  I  love  to  listen  to  him  ;  but  he  makes  me  very  uncomfort- 
able ;"  said  Mrs.  Dana. 

"It  is  so  with  me;"  responded  Lynn.  "Our  conferences 
always  leave  me  out  of  humour  with  myself,  and  envious  of 
him." 

« I  think  the  secret  of  his  influence  lies  in  his  humility  and 
charity ;"  remarked  Ida ;  "  in  his  not  holding  himself  so  far 
above  us  <  deluded  worldlings/  as  certain  of  his  brethren.  He 
believes  there  is  good  in  all ;  not  that  he  is  all-good." 

"  These  all -good  people  are  too  apt  to  slam  the  door  of  Hea- 
ven, as  soon  as  they  are  on  the  safe  side,  themselves;"  answered 
Charley.  "  Lacy  would  be  willing  to  see  the  whole  human  race 
saved." 

"  Who  would  not  ?"  laughed  Ida. 

"  <  "Who  would  not !'  why,  I  honestly  thought,  before  I  knew 
him,  that  many  professors  of  religion, — those  of  his  denomina- 
tion, especially — would  be  sorely  chagrined  at  an  event  so  oppo- 
site to  their  calculations." 

"  I  wish  I  were  as  certainly  '  predestinated'  as  he  is ;"  said 
Lynn,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh. 

"I  cannot  quite  subscribe  to  your  'election'  principles;  but 
if  I  were  altogether  such  an  one  as  he  seems  to  be,  I  should  con- 
sider my  chance  pretty  safe;"  returned  Charley. 

"  You  are  not  going,  Ida !"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Dana.  «  Stay 
all  night  with  me." 

« I  cannot.  We  shall  have  a  snow  storm  to-morrow,  and  I 
might  be  detained  several  days." 

"  No  great  harm  if  you  are  !"  said  Charley." 

"  Not  if  I  have  duties  which  call  me  home  ?  I  will  come 
again  shortly,  but  I  must  go  now." 

Charley,  as  host  pro  tempore,  got  his  hat ;  and  Lynn  followed 
them  into  the  street,  with,  "  I  hope  I  don't  intrude  !"  The  tem- 
pest was  near  at  hand;  the  gust  that  buffeted  them  at  the  cor- 
ners made  them  stagger.  Lynn  forced  Ida  to  take  his  arm  also, 
and  in  this  style  they  breasted  the  storm,  gaily.  Ida  looked  out 
after  them,  before  she  closed  the  door.  They  hurried  along, 
arm  in  arm,  their  merry  voices  borne  back  to  her  by  the  wind, 
after  the  darkness  swallowed  up  their  forms. 

The  snow  fell  steadilj  all  the  next  day,  and  the  next. 


ALONE.  197 

Josephine  was  "  blue  ;"  her  name  for  ill-humor  —  « bad 
weather  always  made  her  blue  ,"  Mr.  Read  had  a  twinge  of  the 
rheumatism,  and  was  amiable  accordingly.  Ida  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  Carry;  read  Charley's  last  budget  of  books;  and 
watched  the  snow-flakes;  enjoying  the  perfect  quiet,  and  free- 
dom from  interruption.  Upon  each  evening,  she  sat  by  her 
window,  until  she  could  not  distinguish  the  boundary  between 
the  leaden  sky  and  the  white  earth  ;  and  the  snow,  she  had  been 
brushing  off  all  day,  banked  up  against  the  glass.  fe  Heigho  ! 
we  dreamers  have  some  pleasures  more  sensible  people  know 
nothing  about;"  said  she,  as  the  tea-bell  sounded  the  second 
night.  "  It  will  seem  so  dark  and  dreary  below  after  the  society 
that  has  cheered  my  sanctum  I" 

The  ice  was  breaking  up  below,  in  a  hail-storm,  which  had  all 
the  sharpness  of  a  conjugal  "  difference,"  without  the  stinging 
politeness  genteel  people  throw  into  their  wrangles.  Ida  listened 
and  sickened  and  sighed.  A  pealing  ring  checked  the  dispu- 
tants. Ida's  heart  fluttered,  and  Josephine  looked  up  anxiously 
at  the  footman's  entrance. 

"  Mr.  Dana,  to  see  Miss  Ross." 

"Of  course  then,  I  shall  not  go  out;"  said  Josephine, 
haughtily. 

Ida  ran  into  the  drawing-room.  « Oh !  I  am  so  glad  to  see 
you !" — but  his  look  stopped  her  short.  «  You  have  bad  news  ! 
Carry  !"  she  articulated,  sinking  into  a  chair. 

"  No  :  Carry  and  Jenny  are  well ;  but  I  am  come  for  you. 
Our  poor  friend  Lynn,  is  very  ill." 

"  111 !"  said  she,  incredulously. 

His  lips  quivered.     "  VERY  ill !" 

"  Lynn  !  brother  !"  A  mist  fell  over  her  sight — then  cleared, 
as  one  long  choking  sob  relieved  her  burdened  breast.  Charley 
raised  her. 

"  There  is  no  time  to  lose." 

« I  am  ready." 

Mr.  Read  and  Josephine  came  into  the  hall  at  the  bustle. 

«  Miss  Ross !  may  I  presume  to  ask  whither  you  are  going, 
0£  such  a  night  ?" 

"  To  see  a  sick  friend,  sir !"  returned  Charley,  as  dictatorially. 

<l  Whom  sir,  and  where  ?" 

17* 


198  ALONE. 

"  My  friend,  and  she  is  under  my  protection  •/'  said  he,  impa- 
tient at  the  detention.  A  carriage  was  waiting.  Ida  asked  one 
question — "  When  was  he  attacked  ?" 

"  Within  three  hours  after  we  parted  from  you.  He  stayed 
with  me  at  John's  that  night ;  complained  before  retiring,  of 
thirst  and  chilliness;  and  awoke  with  a  raging  fever.  The 
doctors  pronounce  the  disease  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  of  the 
most  virulent  nature.  He  had  a  lucid  interval  this  evening,  and 
asked  for  you." 

She  did  not  say,  "  Is  there  hope  ?"  She  knew  there  was1 
none. 

Charley  exchanged  a  word  with  the  servant  who  opened  the 
door,  and  led  the  way  directly  to  the  sick-chamber.  Mrs.  Dana 
met  her  with  a  tearful  embrace  ;  she  saw  no  one  else,  but  the 
figure  upon  the  bed.  But  for  the  dark  circles  about  the  eyes 
and  mouth,  the  unmistakeable  signet  of  Death,  he  might  have 
seemed  in  perfect  health.  He  appeared  to  be  asleep,  until  she 
stood  at  his  pillow ;  then  opened  his  eyes  upon  her  horror-stricken 
face,  and  made  an  effort  to  smile. 

« Ida !" 

"  Dear  Lynn  1" 

His  breath  was  short  "  I  am  almost  gone.  Give  my  fare- 
well, to  Ellen, — I  forgave  and  loved  her  to  the  last.  Bury  her 
miniature  with  me.  I  have  done  with  earth." 

He  closed  his  eyes.  They  brought  a  cordial.  His  wistful 
glance  ran  around  the  room,  and  returned  to  her. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  Lynn  ?" 

Oh!  the  mournful  intensity  of  that  look!  and  the  clammy 
fingers  clasped  hers.  "  /  did  not  think  I  should  die  so  soon  !  Is 
Lacy  here  ?" 

He  came  forward  at  her  sign. 

"  I  am  dying — I  have  not  time  to  search  for  myself — see  if 
there  is  any  promise  for  me  !" 

"  i  Him  that  cometh  unto  me,  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out ;'  " 
repeated  Mr.  Lacy,  instantly.  "  <  He  is  able  also,  to  save  unto 
the  uttermost  all  them,  who  come  unto  God  by  Him, — seeing 
He  ever  liveth  to  make  intercession  for  them.'  " 

The  fading  eyes  were  re-lit  with  eagerness. 

"  Is  that  there  ?  did  He  say  so,  or  did  you  ?" 


ALONE  199 

"  He  said  it,  who  declares,  moreover,  that  He  is  not  willing 
for  <  any  to  perish  but  that  all  should  turn  and  live.' " 

His  dying  gaze  was  upward,  and  his  lips  moved  in  prayer. 

«  To  the  uttermost — the  uttermost  I"  he  whispered.  «  'Lord ! 
remember — me, — when  Thou  comest — into — Thy — '  " 

He  sank  into  a  stupor ;  and  the  physician  administered  another 
stimulant.  He  had  besought  them  not  to  permit  him  to  sleep 
while  reason  lasted.  One  and  another  had  come  in,  on  hearing 
of  his  danger,  and  the  room  was  nearly  filled ;  but  there  was  not  a 
word  or  loud  breath,  to  distract  the  meditations  of  the  parting  soul. 

Charley  and  Mrs.  Dana  were  nearest  him  on  one  side,  Ida  and 
Mr.  Lacy,  on  the  other.  He  looked  at  them  fondly. 

"  Friends !  dear  friends !  <  There  is  a  friend — ' "  to  Lacy. 

He  finished  the  sentence  — "  That  sticketh  closer  than  a 
brother." 

"  Yes  : — I  remember — who  is  able  to  save — to — the — utter 
most — "  his  voice  died  away.  When  next  his  eyes  moved,  i* 
was  slowly  and  painfully ;  but  their  restless  light  was  not  extinct 
The  stiffening  mouth  contracted. 

"  He  says  (  Pray !'  "  said  Ida  to  Morton. 

Every  head  was  bowed;  and  the  opening  sentence  of  tho 
prayer  brought  a  deeper  quiet  to  every  heart. 

"  '  Lord !  Thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place  in  all  genera- 
tions !' " 

The  language  was  simple,  scriptural  and  fervent, — the  plead- 
ing of  a  son,  in  behalf  of  a  brother,  with  an  indulgent  Parent. 
As  he  repeated  the  text,  Lynn  had  dwelt  upon,  Ida  felt  the  feeble 
pressure  of  his  hand ; — he  was  alive  and  conscious  then.  The 
rest  arose  at  the  "  Amen."  She  had  not  knelt;  but  she  did  not 
raise  her  head  from  the  pillow; — her  soul  had  caught  the  fare- 
well of  his,  as  it  flew  away  upon  its  long  journey  !  There  was  a 
movement  through  the  room — a  breathless  pause — a  solemn 
voice  said  "  He  is  gone  !"  and  tears  and  sobbings  broke  forth. 

His  hand  still  held  hers ;  and  the  other  was  folded  over 
them  in  supplication ; — the  eyes  still  looked  heavenward — but 
they  were  fixed. 

Dead  !  dead !  in  his  glorious  beauty — in  the  flush  of  youth  ! 
deaf  to  the  recall  of  mourning  hearts — and  the  awakening 
echoes  of  the  fame  his  genius  had  won  !  If  he  could  die,  who 
was  sure  of  an  hour  of  life. 


200  ALONE 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

ELLEN  MORRIS  accepted  an  invitation  to  Petersburg,  ere  the 
angry  pique,  aroused  by  Lynn's  reproaches,  passed  off.  The 
promise  was  hardly  given,  when  she  would  have  revoked  it,  had 
not  pride  held  her  to  her  word.  Her  friends  were  solicitous, 
that  the  far-famed  hospitality  of  their  city  should  not  seem  to 
the  Richmond  beauty,  to  have  been  vaunted  too  highly ;  and  she 
appreciated  their  efforts ;  but  the  fortnight  she  had  named  as  the 
period  of  her  stay,  crept  slowly  by.  She  hoped  confidently  to 
see  her  lover  again  at  her  feet,  when  the  heat  of  passion  was  over ; 
yet  she  was  wretched  in  the  recollection  of  her  trifling,  and  the 
misery  it  had  inflicted  upon  his  high-toned  spirit.  Twice  she 
prepared  to  write  to  him,  and  end  a  suspense  torturing  to  both, 
— and  twice  dashed  down  the  pen  in  shame  and  pride.  The 
wished-for  hour  of  departure  arrived.  The  morning  was  bleak; 
the  snow  had  ceased  falling,  but  the  clouds  were  low  and  threat- 
ening. Her  entertainers  begged  her  to  wait  but  a  day  longer. 

"  If  it  were  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  you  could  not  be  more 
obstinate/'  said  her  hostess,  fretted  at  her  unreasonableness. 

"And  how  do  you  know  that  it  is  not?"  answered  she, 
jestingly. 

"It  is  no  joking  matter,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  a  young  man, 
gravely.  "  They  have  not  cleared  the  snow  from  the  track  as  it 
ought  to  be  done.  You  would  feel  badly  to  have  your  neck 
broken." 

"That  is  a  trifle  compared  with  a  broken  heart;"  and  she 
laughed  lightly. 

The  train  started,  and  the  shivering  passengers  resigned  them- 
selves to  a  comfortless  ride.  Ellen's  escort,  an  elderly  gentleman, 
lost  no  time  in  settling  his  chin  and  ears  down  in  the  collar  of 
his  great  coat,  and  the  rest  of  his  body  in  a  corner,  to  sleep. 
She  was  wide-awake ;  and  her  spirits,  raised  by  the  near  prospect 
of  the  meeting,  her  hopes  had  fed  upon,  for  weary  days  and 
nights,  found  amusement  in  the  uncouth  figures,  seen  by  the 
struggling  light.  She  did  not  suffer  from  the  cold  or  damp;  her 


ALONE.  201 

pulses  bounded  warmly;  and  when  tired  of  being  a  solitary 
looker-on,  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  beguiled  the  time  by  fancies 
of  home  and  him;  whether  he  too  were  repentant;  if  he  did  not 
show  it,  rather  than  lose  him,  she  could  humble  herself  to  lure 
him  back ; — she  could  not  be  happy  without  the  assurance  of 
his  love.  She  would  tell  him  how  miserable  their  parting  had 
made  her;  and  imagination  revelled  in  the  anticipation  of  the 
refreshing  flood,  her  thirsting  heart  would  receive  in  return. 
There  were  pictures  of  days,  which  should  fleet  by  like  a  dream ; 
— when  doubts  and  fears  should  be  lost  in  perfect  beatitude; 
the  dingy,  smoky  cars  were  metamorphosed  into  their  cottage 
home,  with  its  music  and  flowers  and  birds,  and  its  atmosphere 
of  love ; — and  the  votaries  of  his  divine  art  thronged  to  offer 
incense  to  him — her  peerless  one  ! 

The  halting  of  the  laboring  engine  startled  her.  The  drowsy 
travellers  gathered  themselves  up;  and  elbowing  and  grumbling, 
rushed  out.  She  lifted  the  window.  They  were  at  the  Depot. 
Half-frozen  officials  stamped  their  toes  and  blew  their  fingers ; 
hackmen  swore  at  their  horses  and  the  porters ; — now  and  then, 
a  pair  of  watery  eyes  peered  into  the  cars,  in  quest  of  some 
expected  one;  but  the  form  she  looked  for  was  not  there. 
"  Pshaw !  how  could  he  know  when  she  was  coming  ?  how  silly 
not  to  recollect  this  !" 

"  There  is  no  cne  here  to  meet  you,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  her 
companion,  re-entering. 

"  I  hardly  expected  it,  sir;  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  get  a 
carriage  for  me,  I  will  not  trouble  you  further." 

Her  smile  thawed  the  old  man's  churlishness.  He  volun- 
teered, his  foot  upon  the  step  "  to  see  her  all  the  way  home ;" 
but  she  would  not  consent. 

"  I  am  not  afraid ;  this  kind  '  uncle'  will  carry  me  safely." 

The  driver  scraped  and  grinned,  although  his  woolly  whiskers 
were  hoary  with  rime.  "Pity  all  women  can't  be  agreeable!" 
said  the  escort,  trudging  through  the  drifts,  to  his  hack.  That 
a  gentleman  of  his  temperament  was  ever  otherwise,  even  on  a 
raw  morning,  did  not  occur  to  him. 

An  omnibus  blocked  up  the  street ; — Ellen's  carriage  was 
behind  it,  and  the  driver's  objurgative  eloquence  retarded, 
instead  of  quickening  the  movements  of  its  proprietor,  who  wac 
stowing  away  baggage  upon  the  roof. 


202  ALONE. 

"  Hallo  I"  cried  a  young  man,  to  another,  who  was  knocking 
the  snow  from  his  boots  against  the  curb-stone.  "  When  did 
you  get  in?" 

"Just  now.  Horrid  weather  for  March! — isn't  it?  Any 
news  going  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit — all  frozen  up — ah !  yes  !  Lynn  Holmes  is  dead." 

"  What !  not  the  artist !  when  did  it  happen?  I  saw  him  on 
the  street  a  week  ago — another  duel  ?" 

"No — lung  fever.  He  died  night  before  last,  after  forty- 
eight  hours'  illness." 

"  Shocking !" 

"Ellen !  you  are  white  as  a  sheet !"  was  Mrs.  Morris'  greeting. 
"  My  dear  child — are  you  sick  ?" 

"  No  ma'am — only  cold — oh !  so  cold  I" 

"  Come  to  the  fire." 

"  I  think  I  will  lie  down  awhile — I  am  chilled  to  the  heart !" 

The  servant,  who  carried  her  breakfast,  reported  her  asleep, 
and  the  careful  mother  would  not  let  them  waken  her.  Later 
in  the  day,  she  took  a  cup  of  hot  coffee  up  to  her.  She  was 
motionless;  her  head  covered. 

"  My  daughter !"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  softly,  drawing  down  the 
coverlet. 

She  looked  at  her,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now?" 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am." 

"  You  are  not  quite  awake  yet,  I  believe,"  said  her  mother, 
smiling.  "  Here,  drink  this — it  will  do  you  good." 

She  took  it. 

"  By  the  way,  my  dear,"  continued  Mrs  Morris,  busying  her- 
self with  the  folds  of  a  curtain,  which  did  not  hang  to  suit  her. 
"  I  have  melancholy  news  for  you.  Our  friend,  Mr.  Holmes, 
died  suddenly,  night  before  last.  I  never  was  more  astonished 
and  grieved  in  my  life.  He  was  such  a  handsome,  promising 
young  man,  and  so  attached  to  us  !  I  said  directly  how  sorry 
you  would  be  to  hear  it.  You  were  so  much  together — where 
are  the  pins  ?  oh !  here  they  are  !  His  disease  was  a  rapid  inflam- 
mation of  the  lungs.  The  funeral  will  take  place  at  the  church 
this  afternoon; — some  of  us  must  go,  if  the  weather  is  bad.  Do 
you  think  you  will  be  well  enough?" 


ALONE.  203 

"  Yes  ma'am." 

"  Well — I  hope  so  ;  and  now  I  will  go  down  and  keep  the 
children  still,  so  that  you  can  sleep." 

The  thunder  of  a  thousand  cannon  would  not  have  disturbed 
her.  She  heard  and  saw  all  that  passed ;  but  in  place  of  heart 
and  sense,  was  a  dead  vacuity,  empty  and  soundless,  although  it 
had  eugulphed  thought  and  feeling.  She  went  to  the  funeral. 
Prudent,  appearance-loving  Mrs.  Morris,  dexterously  flung  a  veil 
before  the  stony  eyes,  whose  tearlessness  people  might  observe, 
and  wonder  aloud,  as  she  did  mentally,  at  »  Ellen's  want  of 
feeling  ;"  but  her  daughter  quietly  raised  it.  The  church  was 
crowded.  The  untimely  end  of  one  so  gifted  and  popular,  thrilled 
the  community,  as  the  breast  of  one  man.  All  was  as  still  as  the 
grave ;  the  roar  of  the  busy  city-life  deadened  by  the  heavy  atmos- 
phere and  cushioned  earth.  The  wail  of  a  clarion  stirred  the 
air; — nearer  and  nearer  it  sounded;  and  the  plaintive  breathing 
of  other  instruments ;  and  at  long  intervals,  a  single  roll  of  the 
drum ; — nearer  and  nearer — they  ceased,  and  the  procession  moved 
up  the  aisle.  First  walked  Charles  Dana  and  his  sister-in-law, 
clad  in  deep  mourning  as  for  a  brother ;  then  Morton  Lacy,  pale 
and  sorrowful,  and  on  his  arm  another  black-robed  figure,  (such 
privilege  had  Friendship  above  Love !)  then  a  small  band  of 
fellow-artists ;  and  the  coffin !  borne  and  followed  by  the  Masonic 
fraternity,  of  which  he  was  a  member.  It  was  set  down  in  front 
of  the  pulpit ;  "  the  Book,"  with  its  drapery  of  black  crape,  laid 
reverently  upon  it;  and  the  service  proceeded.  There  were 
prayers  and  hymns  and  a  sermon ;  she  heard  none ; — the  coffin 
lay  in  her  sight — his  coffin  !  It  was  not!  Where  then  was  the 
vigorous  life  which  moved  the  still  form  within  it  ?  where  the 
soul  of  splendid  imaginings  and  lofty  aspirations  ?  where  the 
heart,  with  its  wealth  of  feeling  ?  they  could  not  die  !  He  lived 
still — and  living,  loved  her.  That  narrow  coffin  was  a  horrible 
mockery.  And  so,  when  the  cover  was  removed,  and  those,  who 
from  curiosity  or  affection,  desired  to  look  for  the  last  time  upon 
his  face,  filed  slowly  by  it,  she  arose  too.  He  was  there !  royally 
beautiful,  even  in  his  prison-house ;  the  rich  black  locks  swept 
back  from  the  marble  temples;  and  a  smile  resting  upon  the 
lips.  Oh !  what  power  bears  woman  up  in  a  moment  like  this  1 
Her  life — her  world  was  shut  in  with  the  replacing  of  that  lid ; 


204  ALONE 

but  she  saw  each  screw  returned  to  its  place,  without  a  tear  or 
a  shudder; — herself,  proposed  to  her  mother,  that  they  should 
follow  the  corpse  to  its  home ;  and  watched  them  heap  the  snow 
and  clods  upon  it.  And  through  that  and  many  succeeding 
nights,  she  stood  in  the  attic,  in  cold  and  darkness,  straining 
her  eyes  towards  where  the  gleaming  tomb-stones  were  visible 
in  the  day,  and  fancying  she  could  tell  which  shadowed  an 
unsodded  mound. 

Charley  was  his  friend's  executor.  In  the  fulfilment  of  his 
trust,  he  found  a  casket  marked — "  To  be  given,  at  my  death,  to 
E. — M."  He  thought  of  sealing  it  \tp,  and  sending  it  to  her 
with  a  note  from  himself;  but  decided  upon  further  deliberation, 
to  entrust  it  to  Ida.  It  was  a  painful  duty.  She  was  not  able 
yet  to  speak  of  Lynn  without  distressing  emotion.  His  decease 
was  so  sudden,  so  awful, — snatched,  as  he  was,  from  her  very 
side,  with  the  barest  intimation  of  his  danger,  after  months  of 
intimate  intercourse.  She  mourned  for  him  as  sisters  and  friends 
seldom  weep.  Charley  did  not  command.  "  She  was  the  mors 
proper  person,"  he  said;  "but  he  would  not  grieve  her  by 
enforcing  the  request." 

"  I  cannot  meet  her !"  said  she.  "  He  was  so  dear  to  us — 
how  can  I  endure  the  sight  cf  her  indifference?  They  say  she 
was  calm  and  careless  while  they  were  burying  him." 

"  Calm — she  certainly  was ;  but  the  glance  I  had  at  her  face 
assured  me  not  careless.  I  am  much  mistaken  if  she  was  not 
the  greatest  sufferer  by  that  grave.  I  was  angry  with  her,  pre- 
viously;  I  believe  now  that  she  merits  our  compassion." 

Yet  it  was  an  unwilling  heart  that  Ida  carried  to  the  inter- 
view. Ellen  sent  for  her  to  come  to  her  room.  "I  am  busy, 
you  see,"  said  she,  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile.  Ida  held  the  pre- 
cious legacy  more  tightly,  as  she  noticed  her  occupation.  A  ball- 
dress  was  spread  upon  the  bed,  and  she  was  fastening  roses  upon 
the  skirt.  Her  cheek  was  white,  as  Ida  glanced  at  her  own  sad- 
colored  dress. 

"  You  are  going  to  the  party  to-night,  then  ?"  said  the  latter. 

"  Yes — will  Josephine  attend  ?" 

"  I  have  not  heard  her  gay — have  not  inquired — have  not 
thought  of  it." 

Despairing  of  broaching  the  subject  in  any  other  way,   she 


ALONE.  205 

took  the  casket  from  under  her  shawl,  and  laid  it  upon  the 
dress. 

"  The  living  forget  sooner  than  the  dead,  Ellen  !"  was  all  she 
said. 

The  unhappy  girl  recoiled  at  the  familiar  characters  upon  the 
lid,  and  stretched  out  her  arms  with  an  imploring  cry.  Ida 
reached  her  as  she  fell.  She  had  fainted.  Charley's  words  were 
verified,  and  Ida  blamed  herself  severely  for  her  cruel  abruptness. 
Her  tears  ran  fast,  as  she  strove  to  restore  consciousness  "  Oh ! 
Ida — Lynn!"  groaned  Ellen,  reviving.  Reserve,  pride,  self- 
control  were  borne  down; — they  wept  in  each  other's  arms. 
With  the  casket  pressed  to  her  bosom,  Ellen  heard  his  last  mes- 
sage, and  the  hopeful  words  he  had  spoken  of  the  future,  he  was 
not  to  know  upon  earth. 

"  I  did  love  him !  Heaven  is  my  witness — I  did  love  him !" 
she  cried,  anguishedly.  "  He  did  not  condemn  me;  but  I  can 
never  forgive  myself!  If  I  could  have  seen  him  once  more  to 
tell  him  so !  Dead !  oh  !  that  I  were  in  the  grave  beside  him  !" 

This  was  grief  without  a  glimmer  of  hope.  Ida  had  no  word 
of  comfort. 

Ellen's  eye  fell  upon  the  gossamer  robe. — she  threw  it  upon  the 
floor,  and  trampled  it.  »  I  hate  it !  and  myself,  and  everything 
else  !  I  am  a  hypocrite !  a  lying  hypocrite !  with  my  hollow 
smiles  and  broken  heart.  Leave  me  !  go!  or  I  shall  hate  you!" 

Ida  left  her  thus — writhing  under  the  scorpion-lash  of  remorse, 
and  rejecting  consolation.  She  met  Josephine,  a  square  or  two 
from  home,  and  upon  the  door-step,  Mr.  Lacy.  Admitting  him, 
she  ran  up  stairs  to  efface  the  marks  of  her  recent  agitation. 
Her  pallor  and  swollen  eyes  remained,  however,  and  did  not 
escape  him.  He  did  not  begin,  as  many  would  have  done,  in 
his  place,  to  speak  of  topics  entirely  foreign  to  what  was  in  their 
thoughts;  he  wished  to  apply  a  curative,  not  an  anodyne. 

"  Charley  tells  me  you  are  going  to  the  country,  before  long;" 
he  said.  "  I  do  not  regret  it,  as  I  should  if  I  were  to  stay  here 
myself.  After  the  first  of  April,  I  shall  study  at  home,  until 
autumn.  You  are  to  pay  your  friend  Carry  a  visit,  are  you  not  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  She  is  the  <  sister'  I  have  heard  so  much  of?" 

«  The  same — I  wish  you  knew  her." 
18 


206  ALONE. 

"I  think  I  do.  Her  cheerful  society  is  what  you  need. 
While  it  is  neither  possible,  nor  desirable  to  forget  that  we  have 
been  bereaved,  we  should  beware  how  we  indulge  in  a  luxury  of 
woe.  Our  duty  to  those  we  have  lost,  does  not  oblige  us  to 
neglect  the  friends  who  are  spared  to  us." 

"  Very  few  remain  to  ine,"  said  Ida,  tremulously. 

«  You  are  wrong.  You  may  never  find  one  who  will  fill  his 
place;  but  the  rest  love  you  the  more,  that  you  are  afflicted. 
Charley  is  a  true  brother." 

"  He  is — and  of  late  he  is  more  unreserved,  more  affectionate 
than  he  used  to  be ;  his  sympathy  is  very  sweet.  I  must  speak 
of  yourself,  also,  Mr.  Lacy,  although  I  have  no  language  to 
thank  you  for  your  kindness.  I  fear  I  have  been  wearisome  at 
times ;  but  you  seem  to  understand  why  this  was  no  common 
bereavement  to  me." 

"  So  far  from  being  wearied,  I  am  grateful  for  your  confidence. 
No  act  of  mine  shall  cause  you  to  repent  it." 

"  Charley  has  given  me  some  lines  which  he  thinks  were 
written  recently,"  said  Ida.  "  They  were  among  some  loose 
sheets  in  a  portfolio  of  drawings.  I  wept  over  them,  but  they 
comforted  me.  I  have  been  wishing  that  you  had  them.  This 
is  a  rough  copy,  you  observe ;  and  probably  not  read  after  being 
penned." 

Mr.  Lacy' s  eyes  filled,  as  he  read  at  the  top  of  the  page, 
.  M.,  after  a  visit  from  M.  L." 

"ALL  IN  CHRIST. 

"Jesus,  Saviour!  from  Thy  dwelling, 

High  all  stars  and  thrones  above, 
Hear  my  faltering  accents,  telling 

Of  weak  faith  and  smouldering  love. 
Poor  love  for  Thee,  the  only  worthy — 

Dull  faith  in  Thee,  the  only  wise- 
While  to  all  things  base  and  earthy, 

How  madly  cling  my  wistful  eyes ! 

I  am  blind  !  in  rough  paths  groping, 

With  outstretched  hands  and  sightless  eyes; 
Through  gloom  so  dense,  I  scarce  am  hoping 

That  dawn  will  ever  gild  the  skies. 
Black,  grisly  spectres  hover  o'er  me, 

Filling  my  quaking  soul  with  fright; 
Thou — of  all  worlds  the  sun  and  glory, 

Radiant  Redeemer  !  be  my  light. 


ALONE,  207 

I  am  lonely  !  often  keeping 
Sad  vigils  o'er  affections  dead  ; 

Some  in  the  grave's  strait  chamber  sleeping- 
Some  like  bursting  bubbles  fled ! 

Yet  for  full  love  my  deep  soul  longeth— 
Gently  each  seeking  tendril  bend 

To  Thee — to  whom  that  soul  belongeth  ;— 
Loving  Redeemer !  be  my  friend. 

I  am  guilty  !  oh  how  sinning  ! 

Against  my  kind — against  my  God ; — 
Hell  and  corruption  ever  winning 

My  soul  into  the  downward  road. 
Insanely  gloating  on  pollution — 

Quaffing  thick  lees  for  pleasures  pure — 
Rend  thou  away  each  fell  delusion, 

Holy  Redeemer!  be  my  cure  I" 

"Do  you  recollect  the  visit  to  which  he  refers?"  inquired 
Ida. 

"I  was  with  him  until  late,  one  night,  a  week  before  his 
death,"  was  the  reply ;  "  and  our  conversation  may  have  inspired 
the  thoughts  he  has  expressed  here ;  but  I  cannot  say  with  cer- 
tainty, that  it  did.  If  this  temper  of  spirit  and  heart  was  habit- 
ual to  him,  what  may  we  not  hope  ?" 

"  If  I"  exclaimed  Ida,  sadly.  "  Doubt  is  agonizing.  It  is 
not  consistent  with  God's  mercy  that  he  should  be  consigned  to 
never  ending  misery;  he  whose  faults  made  us  love  him  better; 
the  soul  of  honor  and  integrity !  I  will  not  believe  that  so  much 
that  was  pure  and  good  is  quenched  in  eternal  darkness.  This 
thought  is  with  me  night  and  day.  What  authority  have 
men,  his  inferiors  by  nature — hardly  his  equals  in  the  practice 
of  virtue,  to  doom  him,  and  hope  a  happier  fate  for  the  them- 
selves ?" 

"  Who  has  done  this?"  asked  Mr.  Lacy,  sternly. 

"  More  than  one,  in  my  hearing ;  and  Charley  was  exasperated 
to  insult  a  man,  a  church  member,  who  exhorted  him  not  '  to 
imitate  his  example,  and  thereby  meet  the  same  awful  punish- 
ment.' Charley  regrets  now,  that  he  spoke  rudely  to  one  hia 
senior,  and  whom  he  had  hitherto  respected,  but  says  he,  <a 
Christian  should  not  forget  that  he  is  a  man  !'  " 

"Nor  does  he,"  replied  Morton.  "From  some  who  cross  the 
river  of  Death  we  hear  the  <  All's  Well/  when  their  feet  touch 
the  solid  ground ;  then  we  may  rejoice  in  the  confident  assurance 
that  we  shall  meet  them  again.  As  many  pass  over  in  timid,  as 


208  ALONE. 

in  despairing  silence; — timidity,  exchanged  for  rapture,  on  the 
bright  shore  beyond.  God  only  knows  the  heart — only  knows 
when  the  doomed  oversteps  the  bounds  He  has  appointed  for  his 
rnercy ;  and  as  we  hope  for  it  ourselves,  we  should  tremble  at  the 
thought  of  limiting  it  by  our  finite  judgments.  In  this  immea- 
surable love  and  pity  is  our  trust,  Ida;  doubts  and  fearings 
cannot  solve  the  mystery  j  we  know  this,  however — '  He  doth 
not  afflict  willingly/  and  <  remembereth  our  feeble  frame/  Who 
pardons  a  child's  faults  more  than  a  parent  ?  and  <  Our  Father' 
is  also  his.  Yet,"  continued  he,  "  Charley  erred  in  repulsing 
the  warning,  kindly,  if  injudiciously  extended.  The  suffering  we 
experience  in  our  uncertainty  as  to  his  condition,  should  teach 
us  to  make  our  salvation  sure,  so  that  when  our  hour  shall  come 
— if  a  call  at  midnight,  we  may  not  leave  those  who  love  us, 
comfortless." 

"  His  death  has  caused  a  heart-rending  void,"  said  Ida.  "  I 
start  whenever  the  door  opens  at  the  hours  he  was  accustomed 
to  visit  us.  At  Mr.  Dana's,  I  am  listening  all  the  time  for  his 
step  or  voice.  Oh !  why  do  nonentities,  cumberers  of  the  earth, 
spin  out  a  tiresome  life,  and  the  loved  and  useful  perish  ?" 

"  Perhaps  they  are  taken  away  from  the  evil  to  come.  You 
would  not  rebel  if  you  believed  this  ?  At  best,  what  are  the 
short  years  of  toil  and  change  we  pass  below,  compared  with  the 
never-ending  life  of  our  heavenly  home  ?" 

"  You  forget  that  I  have  no  portion  in  that  home,  Mr.  Lacy." 

"  No  portion !  You  do  not  mean  to  refuse  an  inheritance  so 
graciously  offered !  It  may  be  long  before  we  have  another  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  of  these  things  ;  will  you  make  me  a  promise  ?" 

"  If  I  can  perform  it;"  answered  she. 

"  It  is  that  you  will  every  day,  ask  yourself,  <  What  happiness 
does  my  soul  desire  that  Christ  cannot,  and  will  not  bestow  ?' 
Will  you  do  this  ?" 

She  promised. 

"  It  seems  impossible,"  he  pursued,  "  that  a  sorer  trial  than 
that  which  you  are  now  undergoing,  can  befall  you ;  yet  there 
may  be  such  in  reserve,  and  then,  I  would  have  you  recollect, 
that  as  He  is  the  only  happiness,  He  is  also  the  only  comfort. 
Willingly — gladly  as  I  would  suffer  in  your  stead,  I  would  not 
save  you  a  pang,  if  I  thought  it  was  His  means  to  bring  you  t.o 
Himself." 


ALONE.  209 

He  spoke  with  emotion,  as  if  possessed  with  the  conviction 
that  the  event  he  adverted  to  would  assuredly  take  place ;  and 
that  this  was  his  sole  chance  of  preparing  her  for  it.  He  arose 
—she  gave  him  her  hand — it  was  taken  as  silently,  and -held  for 
a  long  minute. 

"  This  is  not  our  parting,"  said  he  ;  "  if  we  both  live,  I  shall 
see  you  again  soon,  but  to  provide  against  contingencies,  I  will 
ask  you  now  to  write  to  me ;  I  mean,  of  course,  in  answer  to  my 
letters,  as  you  would  to  Charley — to  a  brother, — will  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  your  letters  are  as  frank  as  your  speech,  and  I  am 
granted  a  like  indulgence." 

True  to  his  promise,  he  called  upon  the  eve  of  her  departure, 
but  the  presence  of  the  family  and  other  visitors  prevented 
private  conversation  ;  and  Charley's  manoeuvres,  ekilful  and  un- 
suspected as  they  were,  failed  to  effect  a  diversion  of  Josephine's 
watchfulness.  Yet  as  they  said  "  farewell "  Ida  felt  a  card 
slipped  into  her  hand.  Upon  it  was  pencilled,  "  Remember 
your  promise.  Mizpah." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

LIFE  at  Poplar-grove  was  much  as  it  had  been,  the  previous 
summer;  still  and  bright.  The  mornings  were  spent  in  Carry's 
pleasant  sewing-room,  from  which  male  visitors  were  rigorously 
excluded ;  in  the  afternoon,  were  the  siesta,  and  ride  or  walk ; 
at  night,  music  and  social  chat.  Carry  feared  that  this  monotony, 
while  it  suited  her  wishes  and  employments,  might  be  less 
agreeable  to  her  friend;  that  she  would  miss  the  gay  whirl,  the 
intoxicating  incense  of  her  city  career.  But  Ida  was  contented, 
even  happy.  Beloved  and  caressed  by  the  whole  household,  in 
the  home  of  kindred  tastes  and  feeling ;  and  above  all,  with  the 
firm  hope  that  her  life-long  search  was  at  last  ended ;  her  wild 
cravings  laid  to  rest  beneath  the  waves,  which  welling  from  the 
unsealed  fountain,  had  risen  higher  and  higher,  until  her  soul 
was  overflowing  with  love  and  rapture; — she  revelled  in  the 
quiet  hours  of  friendly  communion,  and  the  sweeter  seasons  of 
witching  reverie.  Carry  knew  nothing  of  the  spring  of  her 
18* 


210  ALONE. 

happiness.  She  saw  that  her  mind  had  acquired  a  more  healthy 
tone ; — that  her  affections  had  expanded,  and  attributed  it  to 
the  influence  of  friendship ; — to  a  strength  of  mind,  which  had 
determined  the  world  should  be  what  it  chose  to  have  it ; — to 
anything  but  the  true  cause, — an  idolatry  that  left  no  room  for 
suspicion  or  discontent.  Once  Carry  alluded  to  the  twilight 
promenade,  when  Ida  had  told  her  of  her  forebodings  of  the 
wane  of  their  love,  after  the  nuptials,  which  were  now  fast 
approaching ;  and  was  answered  by  a  warm  embrace  and  smile, 
which  said  those  fears  were  quelled,  and  might  have  betrayed  to 
more  prying  eyes,  the  enchantment  that  had  exorcised  them. 
Her  evening  improvisations  entranced,  not  only  the  parlor-circle, 
but  drew  to  the  windows  a  larger  audience  from  without,  spell- 
bound by  her  heart-melodies.  All  her  delight  was  not  in  memory. 
Letters  came  and  went; — from  Charley  and  Mrs.  Dana;  and 
gossiping  notes  from  Anna  Talbot  and  other  of  "  the  girls." 
These,  Carry  enjoyed  with  her,  and  asked  no  questions  about 
those  which  she  did  not  see.  Morton's  were  what  he  engaged 
they  should  be ;  sincere  and  friendly,  without  a  hint  that  could 
alarm  her  delicacy.  They  were  tinctured  with  a  sadness,  she 
did  not  comprehend,  until  she  noticed  his  many  references  to 
his  sister's  sufferings,  and  his  anxiety  on  her  account.  .It  was 
her  turn  to  console;  and  her  most  valued  treasure  was  the 
letter,  in  which  he  thanked  and  blessed  her. 

Carry  was  to  be  married  the  last  of  July.  The  middle  of 
June  brought  Mrs.  Dana  and  the  children,  under  Charley's 
protection.  For  the  week  of  his  stay,  he  was  the  life  of  the 
house.  One  cloud  was  upon  the  spirits  of  all; — Lynn  was 
missed  and  mourned,  and  by  none,  with  more  sorrowful  tender- 
ness, than  by  his  vivacious  friend ;  but  he  was  unselfish  even 
in  this.  Ida  could  win  him  to  speak  of  their  loss ;  to  the  others, 
he  never  mentioned  it  of  his  own  accord.  She  was  correct  in 
saying  that  he  had  grown  more  communicative  and  affectionate. 
He  seemed  to  have  transferred  to  her  the  watchful  love  that  had 
been  Lynn's  safeguard  and  solace. 

"  Nothing  changes  you,  Mars' Charley?"  said  Uncle  Ike,,  the 
plantation  patriarch,  halting  at  the  piazza  steps  one  afternoon, 
when  he  had  crawled  out  into  the  sunshine. 

"  I  should  like  to  say  the  same  for  you,  Uncle  Ike ;  time  and 
sickness  have  not  treated  you  as  well  as  you  deserve." 


ALONE.  211 

"  Better'n  I  desarve,  Mars'  Charles  ! — heap  better'n  I  desarve ! 
Time  for  me  to  be  packed  and  shoed  for  my  journey.  I'se  lived 
in  these  low-grounds  of  sorrow,  nigh  'pon  ninety  years,  and 
many'  the  young  folks  I've  seen  step  down  into  the  grave  before 
me.  When  I  heard  that  poor,  handsome  Mars'  Lynn  had  gone 
too,  'pears-like  I  was  ready  to  grumble  'cause  'twant  me — but 
'twas  the  Almighty's  will,  Mars'  Charles, — 'twas  his  will.  It 
'joices  me  to  see  you  so  well  and  lively — jest  like  you  used  to  be. 
You  don't  take  trouble,  I  reckon,  Marster." 

"  No;  it's  against  my  principles; — beside,  we'll  have  a  plenty 
given  to  us." 

"Fact,  Marster!  You  aint  knowed  much  yet;  but 'the  evil 
days  will  come,  when  you  shall  say,  I  have  no  pleasure  in 
them !' " 

Charley  kept  his  seat  upon  the  step  for  some  time  after  the 
old  man  had  gone  : — once  he  sighed  heavily.  Ida  was  in  the 
parlor,  and  longed  to  go  out  to  him,  for  she  guessed  the  tenor 
of  his  thoughts,  but  doubted  the  propriety  of  intruding  upon 
them.  He  got  up,  presently,  and  began  to  walk  the  porch, 
whistling  an  opera  air.  Spying  her  through  the  window,  he 
came  in.  "You  are  ruining  your  eyes  and  health  with  this 
eternal  stitching ;"  said  he.  "  As  I  live,  you  are  boring  holes 
in  that  piece  of  cloth,  for  the  pleasure  of  sewing  them  up  again  ! 
No  wonder  woman's  work  is  never  ended !  What  are  you 
making  ?" 

"  A  handkerchief."  She  displayed  the  corner,  in  which  she 
was  embroidering,  "  Carry  Carleton." 

"  Where  are  the  others  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Mrs.  Dana  is  in  the  nursery';  Carry  asleep ;  Dr.  Carleton 
and  Arthur  abroad." 

"Come,  walk  with  me  !"  requested  he.     Any  handkerchief,- 
a  wedding  mouchoir — can  wait  an  hour." 

Their  course  was  along  the  brink  of  a  deep  ravine ;  over- 
shadowed by  large  old  trees ;  and  bridged  by  fallen  trunks. 
The  sides  were  grass-grown,  and  at  the  bottom  rolled  the  rivulet, 
which  had  fretted  out  the  gorge  ;  blending  its  complainings  with 
the  low  rush  of  the  wind  through  the  forest. 

« So  one  feeling  often  wears  away  the  soul !"  remarked 
Charley,  reflectively.  "  Man  is  but  clay  after  all !" 


212  ALONE. 

"  You !  the  champion  of  your  species — turning  against  them  !" 
exclaimed  Ida. 

"  No.  I  am  still  an  unbeliever  in  the  total  corruption  of  our 
nature ;  a  doctrine  so  opposed  to  reason  and  experience,  that  I 
will  never  assent  to  it,  if  it  is  preached  at  me  until  doomsday. 
But  this  is  a  miserably  .unsatisfactory  life  \" 

"  Yet  the  world  says  you  enjoy  it." 

"  And  do  you,  an  adept  in  concealment,  credit  a  man's  outward 
show?" 

"At  least,  I  do  not  practise  this  accomplishment  upon  my 
friends  ;"  replied  Ida,  piqued. 

"  Did  I  say  that  you  did  ?  I  am  not  sure  that  I  could  not 
prove  this  point,  too  ] — but  we  will  let  it  pass  for  the  present. 
I  believe  you  to  be  what  you  appear  to  me.  Carry  would  never 
forgive  one  who  impugned  your  sincerity ; — and  what  would  Mr. 
Gerrnaine  say  ?" 

This  was  a  gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood,  whose  marked 
attentions  to  Ida  subjected  her  to  the  raillery  of  the  Poplar- 
grove  household. 

"  Nonsense  I"  said  she,  laughing.  "  He  has  never  been 
beyond  the  outermost  court  of  my  heart." 

"  I  own  his  does  not  appear  likely  to  be  the  hand  to  unlock 
the  penetralia.  This  is  the  spot  I  wanted  to  show  you.  Is  it 
not  a  fairy  nook  ?" 

It  was  a  mossy  bank  at  the  foot  of  a  venerable  sycamore,  from 
whose  branches  the  trailing  vines  touched  their  heads.  A  spring 
of  the  clearest  crystal  bubbled  among  its  roots. 

«  Oh  !  for  a  fairy  goblet  1"  said  Ida. 

"It  is  easily  made,  if  these  leaves  are  large  enough,"  answered 
Charley.  He  gathered  some,  but  they  were  too  irregularly- 
shaped  to  suit  his  purpose.  "  It  is  a  simple  process,"  said  he, 
as  he  failed,  after  several  trials,  to  convey  a  thimbleful  of  water 
to  his  amused  companion  ;  "  but  as  the  man  said  who  tried  to 
fly  and  couldn't — 'there  is  every  thing  in  knowing  how  to  do  it.' 
I  never  like  to  be  outdone,  even  in  trifles.  I  saw  some  leaves  as 
we  came  along  that  I  know  will  do — excuse  me  a  moment,  and 
I  will  get  them." 

He  was  gone  before  she  could  object;  and  she  strolled  idly 
around  the  giant  trunk  of  the  sycamore,  admiring  the  al  fresco 


ALONE.  213 

boudoir,  of  which  it  was  the  centre  ornament.  She  set  her  foot 
upon  something  harder  than  the  soft  carpet — it  was  a  small 
morocco  case,  which  she  picked  up,  with  an  ejaculation  of  sur- 
prise, and  without  a  thought  of  who  had  dropped  it,  opened. 
She  had  nearly  let  it  fall,  as  Carry's  lovely  face  smiled  at  her 
from  within.  "  Arthur  has  been  here,"  was  her  comment,  but 
a  glossy  curl  untwined  itself  from  an  envelope  labelled  in  Charley's 
hand — "  The  seat  under  the  honeysuckle.  May  ls<,  18 — ,"  a 
date  four  years  back.  There  was  no  impropriety  in  his  having 
Carry's  likenesss; — they  had  long  been  in  feeling  what  they 
were  shortly  to  become  in  name — brother  and  sister ;  but  her 
heart  beat  so  with  indefinable  terror  that  she  could  not  stand ; — 
it  was  as  though,  instead  of  the  senseless  case,  another  heart,  its 
every  throbbing  revealed,  lay  in  her  hand. 

"  You  are  tired  waiting,  I  suppose,  but  I  had  a  longer  search 
than—" 

The  glow  of  a  stormy  sunset  rushed  to  his  face  as  he  saw  the 
miniature  she  did  not  attempt  to  conceal.  She  had  never  con- 
ceived of  the  dormant  passion  which  now  awoke  in  his  eye  and 
form  ;  but  she  did  not  quail. 

"  I  found  this  over  there,  and  opened  it  thoughtlessly,  not 
suspecting  what  it  was  or  to  whom  it  belonged.  I  am  very 
sorry." 

The  storm  passed  while  she  was  speaking.  The  man's  wonder- 
ful self-command  was  master.  He  dipped  up  the  water  with  a 
careful  hand  ;  the  leafy  cup  did  not  quiver. 

"Do  you  like  it?  is  it  cool  ?" 

"  Yes — thank  you." 

He  drank  draught  after  draught  himself,  threw  away  the  leaves, 
and  resumed  his  seat  upon  the  bank. 

"  There  is  no  help  for  it,  Ida  !  you  must  hear  what  I  did  not 
intend  you  ever  should ;  not  that  I  disdain  your  sympathy,  but 
it  is  a  rule  with  me  not  to  disturb  my  friends  with  troubles,  which 
they  cannot  alleviate.  T  do  not  know  what  suspicions  have  been 
forced  upon  youj  if  they  are  of  the  honor  and  affection  I  owe  my 
brother,  or  of  Tier  fidelity  to  him,  they  are  groundless.  That 
picture  was  painted  for  me  before  I  had  any  intimation  that  his 
was  the  prize  I  foolishly  hoped  to  secure.  I  relinquished  her  j 
out  this  is  the  amulet  which  has  saved  me  in  many  temptations. 


214  ALONE. 

Although  hope  was  no  more,  memory  remained ;  and  vice  could 
not  mate  with  the  visions  of  purity  that  memory  recalled.  There 
has  not  been  a  time  since  I  first  saw  her,  a  laughing  babe,  just 
liberated  from  her  nurse's  arms,  when  I  have  not  loved  her  more 
than  any  other  earthly  being.  As  boy  and  man  I  have  thought, 
studied,  labored  for  her  alone.  When  I  quitted  home  to  seek 
my  fortune,  she  was  still  a  child,  who  clung  weepingly  to  me, 
and  kissed  me  as  fondly  as  she  did  her  father.  It  was  the  last 
time  !  At  my  next  visit  she  was  away  at  school ; — at  the  second 
I  obtained  that  curl.  She  was  then  fifteen;  innocent  and  loving, 
full  of  jesting  surprise  at  <  Charley's  mannish  ways/  and  hurt 
that  I  would  not  call  her  '  sister.'  She  did  not  ask  this  the 
ensuing  summer.  Lynn  was  with  me ;  and  in  the  confidence  of 
a  hope  that  saw  no  cloud  ahead,  I  imparted  to  him  my  dreams 
and  desires,  and  engaged  him  to  take  her  portrait  secretly.  I 
went  back  to  New  York,  and  wrote  to  her  father,  asking  his 
sanction  of  the  proposal  I  could  not  delay.  The  letter  was  upon 
my  desk,  ready  for  the  post,  when  one  arrived  from  Arthur.  He 
was  not  to  blame  for  his  silence ,  I  had  been  as  reserved  to  him  j 
but  he  entreated  my  forgiveness  for  hiding  this,  his  only  secret, 
from  me.  She  knew  it  now ; — her  father's  only  objection  was 
their  youth — a  ( fault,'  he  remarked,  jocosely,  <  which  will  mend 
with  time.'  In  place  of  the  letter  to  my  guardian,  I  forwarded 
one  to  my  brother,  congratulating  him  upon  his  happy  engage- 
ment to  the  woman  I  idolized.  He  is  worthy  of  her,  if  a  mortal 
can  be.  I  can  see  that  it  is  best.  He  has  talents  and  energy, 
and  loves  her  as  she  should  be  loved — I  am  rough  and  eccentric, 
caring  and  striving  for  nothing,  now  that  my  guiding  star  has  set  " 

"  Charley  !  Charley !  you  shall  not  so  defame  yourself !"  cried 
Ida  bursting  into  tears.  "  You — the  kindest — most  generous 
of  men  !  you  are  worthy  of  her  !  Oh  !  I  wish  it  could  be  I" 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise.  I  came  home 
last  summer,  and  saw  them  together  without  a  pang  of  selfish 
regret ;  and  gloried  in  my  subjugation  of  a  passion  their  betrothal 
made  sinful,  until  our  ride  to  <  the  Castle.'  My  arm  saved  her 
from  mutilation  or  death,  and  instead  of  thanksgiving,  sprang 
up  a  horrible  envy,  that  I  had  rescued  her  for  him.  It  was 
momentary,  but  the  repentance  was  bitter.  I  abhor  myself 
when  I  think  of  it.  I  have  never  fancied  since  that  I  did  not 


ALONE.  215 

lore  her.  I  know  it  as  well  now  that  another  month  will 
make  her  his  bride,  as  I  did  when  hope  was  highest.  Poor  Lynn ! 
it  grieved  him  to  his  dying  day  !" 

Silence  and  tears  was  a  fitting  reply  to  this  narration.  It 
came  to  Ida,  like  sudden  death  to  a  festival ;  producing  not  only 
sorrow  and  dismay,  but  a  trembling  insecurity — an  awful  whis- 
per— "Who  next?"  Did  human  love,  then,  always  terminate 
in  misery  ?  Was  there  no  remedy  ?  She  wanted  Charley  to  speak 
again,  and  say  that  he  had  some  source  of  comfort;  or  at  least, 
strength  for  the  last,  greatest  trial.  His  words  put  this  hope  to 
flight. 

"I  have  borne  as  much  as  I  can; — if  it  be  cowardly  to  avert 
further  suffering,  I  am  not  brave.  I  have  business  in  the  West 
next  month,  which  could,  but  shall  not  be  postponed.  John  will 
not  know  of  it  in  time  to  provide  a  substitute.  Arthur  will  be 
disappointed;  I  would  spare  him  this  trifling  pain,  if  I  were  cer- 
tain that  I  should  not  give  him  more  by  remaining.  I  shall  not 
wear  this  after  the  marriage — I  may  become  a  castaway  without 
it,  for  aught  I  know.  When  Lynn  died,  I  said,  <  My  secret  is 
buried  with  him.'  I  have  committed  what  the  Machiavelis  of 
the  day  would  call  an  unwise  act,"  added  he,  smiling ;  '  consigned 
it  to  the  keeping  of  a  woman' — but  I  have  no  fears  for  its  safety 
with  you.  Do  not  let  it  prey  upon  your  spirits.  I  would  not 
saution  a  less  sympathetic  nature.  Be  happy,  Ida, — it  is  your 
manifest  destiny ;  and  I  am  still  disinterested  enough  to  <  rejoice 
with  those  who  do  rejoice.'  The  sun  is  setting — you  shall  not 
go  to  the  house  with  that  woe-begone  face.  Smile  !  or  I  don't 
stir." 

He  laughed  at  her  attempt.  "  Rather  hysterical, — with  that 
sob  treading  upon  its  heels ;  but  it  will  do.  Come,  sister  !" 

Ida  could  have  cried  more  heartily  at  an  expression  and 
tone,  that  reminded  her  of  Lynn ;  but  he  was  resolute  in  not 
allowing  it. 

Carry  was  upon  the  piazza.  "  My  dear  friends  !"  cried  she, 
running  to  meet  them.  "  Where  have  you  been  !  here's  a  house 
full  of  company,  and  I  have  sent  scouts  in  every  direction.  Did 
not  you  hear  Dr  see  them?" 

"  f  I  heard  the  owls  scream,  and  the  crickets  cry ;'  "  said 
Charley.  "Who  is  here,  that  we  can  prefer  to  each  other's 
society  ?" 


216  ALONE. 

"  Your  forest  ramble  has  taught  you  gallantry.  You'll  find 
him  but  a  dull  scholar,  Ida — why,  there  are  Messrs.  Faulkner, 
Kuston  and  G-ermaine,  impatiently  waiting  the  belle's  appear- 
ance." 

"  Irresistible — more  irresistible — most  irresistible  !  Are  you 
going  off  to  beautify,  Miss  Ida?  Don't  hurry — I  will  tell  them 
we  got  lost  or  drowned  in  the  woods." 

When  the  girls  went  down,  it  was  candle-light  j  and  the 
"  Irresistibles"  were  laughing  themselves  black  in  the  face,  over 
the  piano,  and  the  "funniest  of  fellows,"  who  was  entertaining 
them  by  an  original  parody  upon  "  Oh  no !  I  never  mention 
her !" 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

CHARLEY  departed,  and  for  several  days,  Ida  disregarded  his 
injunction  of  cheerfulness.  She  liked  the  warm-hearted,  reliable 
Arthur;  but  she  was  unjust  in  her  vexation  at  his  happiness, 
when  she  pictured  the  lonely  brother,  who  had  sacrificed  his,  to 
preserve  it  unabated.  Her  conscience  reproached  her  for  a  dis- 
play of  this  impatience,  while  they  were  watching  the  receding 
form  of  their  visitor.  Arthur  linked  her  arm  in  his,  saying 
playfully,  "  Come,  cousin  Ida,  tell  us  what  made  you  and  my 
rattling  brother  so  sober  this  morning.  You  parted  as  if  you 
did  not  expect  to  meet  again  in  this  world.  Is  there  any  hope 
of  my  claiming  nearer  kinship  ?" 

With  a  quick,  fretful  gesture  she  broke  from  him ;  and  although 
she  recovered  herself  immediately,  and  answered  pleasantly,  he 
was  amazed  and  wounded,  and  never  repeated  the  familiarity. 
A  letter  from  Mr.  Lacy  came  opportunely  to  brighten  the  cur- 
rent of  thought.  She  wished  Charley  could  read  it ;  but  as  this 
was  not  to  be,  she  embodied  its  sentiments  in  her  reply  to  a 
communication  she  had  received  from  him.  She  was  in  the 
habit  of  moralising  speculatively ;  and  he  had  no  clue  to  betray 
from  what  quarter  this  practical  strain  had  emanated. 

John  arrived  a  week  before  the  marriage,  with  intelligence 
that  set  the  house  in  a  turmoil ;  Charley  had  started  to  Missouri 


ALONE.  217 

that  morning.  He  "was  the  bearer  of  his  excuses  and  the 
bridal  gift."  Carry  wept ;  and  Arthur  was  indignant ;  Dr. 
Carleton  proposed  a  postponement,  which  was  unanimously  voted 
for  by  the  servants.  "Twouldn't  be  no  wedding  wuth  talking 
about,  'thout  Mars'  Charles  was  thar  !"  The  motion  was  strenu- 
ously opposed  by  a  minority  of  three — John,  Ida  and  Arthur; 
John  asserting,  in  his  business  way,  that  the  ceremony  could 
be  performed  as  well  without  the  absentee  ;  and  that  his  example 
of  punctuality  in  keeping  engagements  should  be  improved.  The 
two  others  deprecated  a  change,  without  distinctly  stating  their 
reasons.  They  carried  the  day.  Poplar-grove  was  visible  for 
miles  around,  on  the  moonless  night  of  the  bridal.  Lights  blazed 
in  every  window ;  starry  festoons  depended  from  the  trees ;  and 
in  the  garden,  the  glow-worm  fairies  might  have  been  celebrating 
the  royal  birth-night.  In  doors,  the  scene  was  one  of  bewilder- 
ing beauty.  Fairies  of  mortal  mould  flitted  through  the  summer 
bowers,  at  whose  decoration,  Flora  must  have  presided  in  person. 
Carry  was  too  modest  to  covet  display ;  but  Dr.  Carleton  was 
wealthy  and  liberal ;  and  Ida  and  Mrs.  Dana,  who  were  both 
fond  of  splendor  and  excitement,  had  his  hearty  concurrence  in 
their  designs.  The  former  planned  everything.  It  was  a  new 
business  to  her ;  but  she  struck  out  boldly,  copying  a  gorgeous 
conception  of  her  fertile  brain,  guided  solely  by  her  eye  and 
judgment.  Her  subordinates  marvelled  at  first;  but  had  too 
much  faith  in  her  to  rebel ;  and  as  the  idea  was  developed,  their 
industry  and  delight  surpassed  her  expectations.  When  com- 
pleted, the  effect  was  so  novel  and  pleasing,  they  were  ready  to  fall 
down  and  worship  her;  and  more  cultivated  taste  did  not  derogate 
from  their  eulogistic  approbation.  Dr.  Carleton  thanked  her  with 
moistened  eyes;  Arthur  laughingly  wondered — "  what  talent  next  ? 
her  versatile  genius  kept  him  in  a  state  of  perpetual  wonderment ;" 
but  Carry's  silent  kiss  was  dearer  praise  than  all.  As  first  brides- 
maid, and  an  inmate  of  the  mansion,  Ida  was  virtually  mistress  of 
the  ceremonies;  Mrs.  Dana  confining  her  attention  to  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  banquet,  dressing-rooms  and  chambers.  Carry  had 
invited  all  of  her  schoolmates  who  were  within  reach ;  among  those 
who  came,  were  Anna  Talbot,  Emma  Glenn,  Ellen  Morris,  who  was 
staying  at  Mr.  Truman's,  and  our  old  friend  Celestia ; — "  cousin 
Lucindy"  being  again  conveniently  remembered.  The  three  first 
19 


218  ALONE 

named,  were  bridesmaids.  Ida  walked  with  Mr.  Euston ;  and 
as  the  train  formed,  she  thought  of  the  two  who  would  have 
taken  precedence  of  him ;  of  the  chilly  sleep  of  the  pulseless 
heart,  and  the  desolation  of  the  living  one;  while  the  irrevo- 
cable words  were  said,  she  heard,  like  the  echo  of  a  knell — 
'•caring  for  nothing,  striving  for  nothing- -now  that  my  guidiug 
star  has  set ;"  and  the  sigh,  which  contended  with  her  smile  of 
salutation  to  the  bride,  was  "poor  Charley!" 

Ellen  Morris,  too,  may  have  had  her  reminiscences ;  this 
event  could  not  but  revive  the  recollection  of  her  sister's  bridal, 
not  a  year  before ;  but  the  sparkling  hazel  orbs  were  unshadowed 
;isthen;  her  manner  as  charmingly  coquettish.  Celestia  had 
not  forgotten  Mr.  Euston ;  and  seized  an  early  opportunity  to 
renew  their  flirtation.  The  gentleman  was  not  so  willing;  he 
was  not  exactly  in  love  with  his  partner;  but  was  not  insensible 
to  her  attractions,  and  that  in  his  position  he  was  envied  by  most 
of  the  single  men  present — cordially  hated  by  one.  Ida  knew 
not  that  he  was  taxing  every  energy  to  achieve  fascination.  She 
felt  the  nervousness  of  a  youthful  hostess  that  things  should  "go 
off"  well ;  the  company  be  pleased  with  their  reception  and  them- 
selves; conscious,  that  although  the  praise  or  censure  might  not 
be  put  upon  her,  yet  in  reality  the  result  depended  upon  her 
exertions.  Solicitude  yielded  to  triumphant  satisfaction,  as  the 
electric  sympathy  spread,  leaping  from  tongue  to  tongue ;  and 
evolving,  in  dazzling  coruscations,  from  kindling  eyes.  She  did 
not  seek  her  reward  then,  but  she  had  it.  Few  were  so  blind 
and  ungrateful,  as  not  to  recognise  her  hand  in  the  pleasures 
offered  to  them.  The  girls,  the  most  fastidious  of  the  various 
classes  for  whose  whims  a  party-giver  has  to  cater,  forgave  her 
magnet  influence  upon  the  choicest  beaux,  as  they  were  them- 
selves well-supplied  notwithstanding;  the  old  people  were  charmed 
with  her  respectful  affability ;  and  of  her  immediate  attendants, 
there  was  not  one  who  was  not  convinced  that  he  contributed 
most  to  her  amusement. 

Ill-nature  is  indigenous  to  all  soils,  and  spite  creates  its  own 
food ;  'and  she  did  not  escape  wholly  unscathed.  She  overheard 
the  epithets,  "flirt,"  and  "dashing,"  in  the  same  breath  with 
her  name ;  but  she  laughed  at  the  silly  shot.  If  she  flirted,  no 
one  was  offended  or  injured ;  if  she  dashed,  she  did  it  with  a 


ALONE.  219 

grace  her  maligners-iried  vainly  to  copy.  As  she  left  the  supper- 
room,  a  glance  at  the  hall-mirror  showed  that  her  hcad-dresa 
was  disordered ;  and  she  repaired  to  the  dressing-room  to  rectify 
it.  She  paused  before  the  glass  there,  in  unfeigned  wonder  at 
the  reflected  figure.  It  was  the  first  time  a  spark  of  personal 
vanity  had  ever  inflamed  her  mind.  She  knew  that  she  was 
admired;  she  believed,  because  she  amused  people  by  her 
sprightly  repartee ;  compliments  upon  her  appearance  were  for- 
gotten as  soon  as  heard,  leaving,  as  their  only  trace,  contempt 
for  their  author.  To-night,  the  thoughtful  eyes  were  alive  with 
light;  the  cheeks,  usually  colorless,  as  rosy  as  Carry's;  and  the 
wreathing  smile  imparted  a  wondrous  beauty  to  the  proud  lips. 
A  softer,  sweeter  happiness  succeeded  the  girlish  exultation — 
pardonable  since  it  was  short-lived — she  turned  from  the  mirror, 
with  indifference,  as  she  murmured — 

"  Young,  loving  and  beloved! 
These  are  brief  words,  but — " 

An  exclamation  interrupted  the  quotation.  She  snatched  up  a 
letter  from  the  table.  "  It  must  have  come  this  afternoon,  and 
they  forgot  to  give  it  me.  How  unkind !"  This  was  too  public 
a  place,  there  was  constant  passing  in  and  out;  but  she  could 
not  be  debarred  its  perusal  until  the  guests'  departure.  A  closet 
opened  beyond  the  chamber ;  she  carried  a  lamp  in  thither,  and 
bolted  the  door.  He  wrote  kindly,  but  more  constrainedly  than 
formerly;  and  the  sense  of  some  phrases  was  confused,  as  if  he 
had  commenced  them,  meaning  to  say  one  thing,  and  changed 
his  mind  ere  th-3  conclusion.  His  sister  had  been  very  ill,  he 
said,  but  was  now  out  of  danger;  and  his  statement  of  this 
simple  fact  appeared  embarrassed.  She  read  two  pages  in  per- 
plexity whether  to  chide  his  ambiguity,  or  her  unsettled 
thoughts;  "And  now,  my  dear  friend,"  so  ran  the  third,  "1 
have  to  solicit  indulgence  for  my  egotism,  while  I  speak  of  an 
event  of  incomparable  importance — and  than  which,  nothing  was 
more  remote  from  my  thoughts,  four  months  ago.  Annie  has 
another  nurse  besides  myself  this  summer;  an  early  playmate  ot 
ours,  a  gentle  girl,  who,  I  think,  must  resemble  your  friend 
Carry,  in  character  and  person.  She  visited  Annie  early  in 
April;  and  an  angel  of  healing  she  has  proved  to  our  beloved 
sufferer.  It  is  an  affecting  sight — one  so  young  and  fair,  desert- 


220  ALONE. 

ing  the  society  she  would  adorn,  for  the  wearisome  offices  of  a 
sick-room.  I  have  said  that  she  is  gentle,  and  in  disposition 
and  deportment  essentially  feminine; — add  to  these,  the  intelli- 
gence aud  accomplishments  of  a  strong  and  thoroughly-trained 
mind ;  and  you  will  not  be  surprised  that  she  has  gained  our 
hearts; — will  not  accuse  me  of  precipitancy,  when  you  bear  that 
I  have  sought  and  obtained  her  promise  to  return  to  us,  united 
by  a  dearer  tie  than  the  bonds  of  friendship.  I  do  not  merit 
this  gift  at  the  hands  of  Providence;  for  I  have  rebelled,  in  times 
past,  at  the  strokes  I  knew  were  just,  but  could  not  acknowledge 
were  merciful.  There  is  nothing  earthly  which  can  compare 
with  the  love  of  a  true-hearted  woman. — If  I  ever  needed  an 
incentive  to  industry  1  have  it  in  this.  Months — years,  perhaps 
— must  elapse  before  our  union.  It  may  be  said,  I  have  not 
acted  prudently  in  forming  an  engagement,  whose  consumma- 
tion is  so  distant ;  but  I  have  obeyed  the  voice  of  my  heart  and 
conscience." 

Aye  !  crumple  the  sheet  in  your  grasp,  and  sink  to  the  earth — 
a  crushed  thing!  struck  down  from  the  zenith  of  your  pride  and 
bliss — Crushed  and  mangled — but  living  and  feeling!  Grief 
does  not  always  stun — it  seldom  kills — you  must  live,  although 
each  lacerated  heart-string  is  crying  out  for  death  !  Say  not  that 
it  came  without  warning!  Was  there  no  voice  in  your  early 
bereavement — in  the  stern  lessons  of  your  girlhood — in  the  frus- 
tration of  an  hundred  cherished  purposes — in  Lynn's  suicidal 
madness — in  Ellen's  remorse — in  Charley's  withered  heart? 
Why  wers  you  made  to  feel,  see,  know  these,  if  not  to  teach 
you,  that  they  who  lean  upon  mortal's  love  trust  to  the  weakest 
of  rotten  reeds — they  "  who  sow  the  wind,  must  reap  the  whirl 
wind  " — black,  bitter,  scorching  ! 


ALONE.  221 


CHAPTEK    XX. 

"  I  NEVER  thought  you  unreasonable  before,  Ida." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  should  now,  Carry." 

"  How  can  I  help  it,  when  after  travelling  with  us  for  weeks 
you  suddenly  resolve  to  return  to  Eastern  Virginia  by  yourself; 
and  to  that  lonesome  place  in  the  country,  which  you  have  not 
visited  for  years!" 

"  I  have  an  escort ;  a  gentleman  who  is  on  his  way  to  Rich- 
mond, and  will  take  charge  of  me." 

11  But  why  this  notion,  just  as  we  decided  to  go  north  ?  Has 
your  curiosity  to  behold  Niagara  diminished  since  your  sight  of 
'the  Bridge?'" 

"  Frankly  and  truly,  I  do  not  care  to  see  it.  I  would  not 
ride  to  the  House  Mountain  yonder,  if  Mont  Blanc,  the  Lake  of 
Como,  and  the  Great  Fall  were  to  be  seen  from  the  other  side." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Arthur?"  said  Carry,  despairingly,  to  hei 
husband,  who  was  reading. 

"No — what  is  it?" 

"  This  obstinate  young  lady  is  about  to  deprive  us  of  the 
honour  of  her  company.  She  is  going  back  to  Staunton  to- 
morrow." 

"  To  the  Lunatic  Hospital  ?"  inquired  Arthur,  putting  aside 
his  book.  "You  are  not  in  earnest,  Ida?  Are  you  tired  of 
us  j  or  do  you  dislike  our  sketched  route  ?  If  the  last,  we  will 
alter  it." 

"  And  if  the  first,  we  will  alter  ourselves,"  interposed  Carry, 
laughingly. 

«  I  would  have  you  and  your  plans  remain  as  they  are.  I  am 
not  well,  and  require  rest — not  change.  My  desire  to  see  old 
Sunnybank  is  not  a  caprice,  as  Carry  supposes ;  I  have  had  it  in 
contemplation  for  a  long  time.  Mr.  Head  deterred  me  from  it 
by  representations  of  the  discomfort  I  would  encounter;  the 
only  white  man  left  on  the  plantation  being  the  overseer.  This 
Bummer  he  has  been  removed,  and  his  place  given  to  a  former 
19* 


222  ALONE. 

tenant  of  mother's;  a  man  of  family;  and  the  accommodations, 
which  serve  for  them,  will  keep  me  from  hardship." 

"  She  is  sick,"  said  Carry,  when  Ida  retired.  "  She  has  not 
been  herself  lately.  Were  it  not  that  she  is  used  to  dissipation, 
I  should  think  that  the  round  of  parties,  after  our  wedding,  over- 
tasked her  strength.  Yet,  she  enjoyed  them." 

"  Her  maladv  may  be  of  the  mind,"  said  Dr.  Dana,  thought- 
fully. "  Do  you  consider  this  probable  ?" 

"  Oh,  no !  she  was  well  and  happy  when  she  came  to  us;  and 
what  can  have  occurred  since  to  affect  her  ?" 

"  You  are  right,  I  dare  say;"  returned  he,  absently.  He  was 
pondering  upon  her  behaviour  after  Charley's  departure. 

Argument  did  not  dissuade,  and  conjecture  was  baffled  in  the 
effort  to  explain  this  unexpected  movement.  They  parted  in 
Lexington — Ida  to  recross  the  mountains  eastward;  they,  to 
travel  north  by  way  of  Harper's  Ferry. 

If  there  is  an  enjoyment,  which  is  purely  of  the  intellect,  its 
usurpation  is  man's  high  prerogative ;  the  sticklers  for  woman's 
"equal  rights"  will  never  establish  her  title  to  it.  The  mind 
masculine  may  be  nourished  and  exercised,  and  attain  its  full 
size,  while  the  heart  is  dwarfed  and  sickly; — as  with  twin 
children,  one  sometimes  grows  to  man's  stature,  healthy  and 
strong ;  and  the  other  pines  and  dies  in  childhood.  In  woman, 
intellect  and  the  affections  are  united  from  their  birth ; — like 
the  Siamese  brothers,  one  refuses  food,  which  is  denied  its  com- 
panion ;  and  who  dare  peril  the  life  of  both  by  severing  the 
ligament  which  joins  them  ? 

Ida's  route  was  through  the  garden-spot  of  our  State — the 
magnificent  Valley,  with  its  heaven-bathed,  impregnable  eyries, 
among  which  our  country's  Father  selected  a  resting-place 
for  Freedom's  standard — America's  Thermopylae,  should  the 
invader's  power  drive  him  from  every  other  hold ; — where  one 
may  travel  for  days,  encircled  by  the  Briarean  arms,  the  sister 
ridges  stretch,  in  amity,  towards  each  other — each  rolling  its 
streams  and  clouds  down  to  the  verdant  plains  between ; — where 
morning  and  evening,  the  sun  marshals  his  crimson  and  gold- 
colored  array  upon  the  purple  heights,  which  are  coeval  with 
him  and  Time ;  and  flings  shadows  and  hues  athwart  them,  in 
his  day's  march,  he  never  vouchsafes  to  Lowland  countries  j — 


ALONE.  223 

and  this  region  was  traversed  with  not  a  thought  beyond  a 
feverish  wish  to  be  at  her  journey's  end  and  rest.  She  stopped 
in  Richmond  but  one  night.  Mr.  Read  and  his  daughter  were 
out  of  town,  and  she  went  to  a  hotel.  At  dawn  she  was  upon 
the  road,  with  no  attendant  but  the  driver  of  her  hack.  Rachel 
had  gone  to  Sunnybauk  a  month  before,  to  see  her  relations, 
little  expecting  her  mistress  to  come  for  her.  Ida's  spirits  and 
health  declined  alarmingly,  now  that  the  necessity  of  eluding 
suspicion  was  over.  She  had  never  been  sick  a  day  in  her  life; 
but  she  began  to  feel  that  mental  ills  may  be  aggravated  by 
bodily  disease.  The  unnatural  tension  had  been  maintained  too 
long.  When  Sunnybank  appeared,  she  was  unable  to  raise  her 
head  to  look  at  it.  The  negroes  flocked  out  at  the  phenomenon 
of  a  travelling  carriage  in  the  disused  avenue;  and  loud  were 
their  astonishment  and  compassion,  as  they  recognised  its 
occupant. 

"  I  have  come  home  to  die,  mother,"  said  she,  as  they  lifted 
her  out,  and  fainted  in  their  arms.  In  the  midst  of  their  con- 
sternation, the  family  pride  of  the  faithful  underlings  was 
stubborn.  "  Their  young  mistress  should  not  be  carried  to  the 
overseer's;"  and  Aunt  Judy,  the  keeper  of  the  keys,  hurried  off 
to  unlock  the  house  doors.  Ida  had  a  cloudy  remembrance  of 
awakening  in  her  mother's  chamber,  and  of  a  gleaming  fancy, 
that  she  was  once  more  a  child,  aroused  from  a  horrid,  horrid 
dream,  then  her  senses  forsook  her,  and  there  was  a  wide  hiatus 
in  memory.  It  was  night  when  she  awoke  again ;  she  was  in 
the  same  room; — a  fire  burned  in  the  chimney,  and  cast  fan- 
tastic shapes  upon  the  ceiling.  Crouched  in  the  corner  of  the 
fire-place,  was  a  dusky  figure,  whose  audible  breathing  sounded 
loudly  through  the  apartment.  Her  slumbers  were  not  very 
profound,  however,  for  she  sprang  up  at  the  fesble  call — 
"Rachel!" 

"  Miss  Ida !  honey!  what  do  you  want?" 

"  How  long  have  I  slept  ?  my  head  feels  so  strange  !" 

"  That's  because  you've  been  sick,  honey." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  me  ?" 

«  Fever,  dear — you  caught  it  in  them  dreadful  mountains, 
and  have  been  laid  up  for  four  weeks.  But  you'll  git  well,  now 
— you  were  out  of  your  head  'most  all  the  time — and  the  doctor 
says  you  mustn't  talk." 


224  ALONE. 

Ida  desisted,  too  weak  to  disobey.  "With  vague  curiosity,  ste 
followed  her  with  her  eyes,  as  she  smoothed  the  counterpane, 
pushed  up  the  bed  on  one  side,  and  patted  it  down  on  the  other; 
then  she  put  the  "chunks"  together  upon  the  hearth,  and  there 
was  the  clinking  of  spoons  and  glasses  at  a  table. 

"  Here's  your  drink,  Miss  Ida,"  she  said,  lifting  her  head 
with  a  care  that  proved  her  a  practised  nurse.  It  was  cool  and 
palatable,  and  the  heavy  lids  sank  in  natural  slumber. 

Mr.  Grant  (the  overseer)  and  his  wife  had  not  been  remiss  in 
their  duty  to  the  sick  girl.  She  had  the  best  medical  attendance 
the  county  afforded ;  and  Mr.  Read  was  written  to  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  attack ;  the  letter  was  unanswered — probably 
not  received.  Rachel  was  "  sure  Miss  Jenny  or  Miss  Carry 
would  come  in  a  minute,  if  they  knew  she  was  sick;"  but  was 
ignorant  of  the  address  of  either.  Their  nursing  might  have 
been  more  skilful,  but  it  could  not  have  exceeded  hers  in  tender- 
ness. She  took  turns  with  Mrs.  Grant  in  watching,  but  she 
never  left  the  room  except  for  her  meals.  She  was  amply  repaid 
for  her  labor  of  love  by  the  improvement  which  henceforward 
was  apparent  in  her  patient.  Her  raptures  awoke  no  responsive 
harmony  in  Ida's  bosom. 

Her  physician  was  a  son  of  Mr.  Hall,  the  old  minister,  who 
had  gone  to  his  rest. 

"  You  must  exert  yourself,  Miss  Ida,"  said  he.  "  Have  you 
walked  yet  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Cannot  you  do  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  indeed,  sir." 

"But,  my  dear  child,  nature  cannot  do  everything;  we  must 
aid  her.  It  is  as  binding  upon  us  to  save  our  own  lives,  as  those 
of  others." 

"  When  they  are  worth  saving." 

"You  want  more  powerful  tonics  than  any  I  have;"  said  the 
doctor,  eyeing  her  curiously.  "  I  must  think  your  case  over. 
I  command  you  to  walk  across  the  room  twice  to-day,  three 
tLnes  to-morrow,  and  so  on.  See  that  she  minds  me,  Rachel !" 

Rachel  gave  her  no  peace,  until  she  consented  to  sit  up  awhile 
in  the  easy-chair,  by  the  window.  Sunuybank  was  sadly  changed. 
Ihe  buildings  and  enclosures  were  in  good  repair,  and  the  fields 


ALONE.  225 

cultivated ;  but  the  walks  and  shrubbery  were  neglected ;  and 
the  garden,  into  which  Ida  was  looking,  overgrown  with  high 
weeds.  Here  and  there  a  rose-tree  struggled  for  a  foothold,  a 
scanty  growth  of  yellow  leaves  clinging  to  the  mossy  stems ;  the 
sweetbrier  still  hung  over  the  window,  its  long,  bare  arms  rat- 
tling in  the  cold  wind  like  fleshless  bones;  the  tangled  grass  in 
the  yard  had  run  to  seed,  and  piles  of  dead  leaves  were  heaped 
against  the  palings.  She  could  not  see  the  grave-yard ;  she 
knew,  though,  that  the  willows  were  leafless,  and  how  the  sprays 
were  waving  in  their  melancholy  dance,  and  whispering  their  old 
song — "Alone!"  If  alone  then,  how  now?  sick — dying,  per- 
haps !  where  were  those  who  had  proudly  borne  the  name  of 
friend  ?  where  the  sister,  in  whose  bosom  she  had  lain  for 
months,  and  eased  her  sorrows  and  heightened  her  joys  ?  the 
brother,  she  had  averred,  was  "  all  kindness  and  truth  ?"  and 
oh !  where  he,  who  had  filled  her  heart  to  the  brim  with  the 
rich,  red  wine  of  life,  to  change,  in  a  moment,  to  fiery,  deadly 
poison  !  She  felt  no  resentment  against  him ;  she  was  too 
utterly  broken-hearted,  she  thought,  even  if  she  had  cause ;  and 
she  had  not.  Her  wilful  self-deception  had  been  her  snare; 
instead  of  studying  his  heart,  she  had  judged  it  by  her  own. 
Were  his  candor — bis  undisguised  interest  in  her  welfare,  tokens 
of  love,  that  ever  seeks  concealment?  No  !  he  had  tried  to  lead 
her,  a  wayward  child,  to  the  paths  of  happiness;  and  she  had 
seen  nought  but  the  hand  which  pointed  the  way.  There  was 
prophetic  meaning  in  Lynn's  eye,  when  he  spoke  of  "  the  finest 
growth  of  heart  and  soul,  which  you  flattered  yourself  were  climb- 
ing heavenward,  twining  with  strengthening  tendrils  around  the 
altar  of  that  one  love  !"  She  had  been  impious  enough  to  ima- 
gine that  she  was  imbibing  a  fondness  for  holy  things ;  her  heart 
had  burned  within,  her,  as  he  talked  of  the  loved  theme;  she 
had  read  the  Scriptures,  and  prayed,  in  words,  for  light  and 
guidance.  And  by  the  fierce  rebellion  which  fired  her  breast-- 
rebellion against — hatred  of  the  Being,  this  lip  service  had  blas- 
phemed, she  knew  that  she  had  never  bowed  in  soul  to  Him; 
and  her  heart — broken,  though  she  said  it  was, — trusting  still — 
adoring  still  the  mortal,  through  the  great  love  she  bore  him — 
yet  reared  itself  in  angry  defiance,  saying  to  the  Chastener, — "  I 
will  not  submit "'  What  had  she  done,  to  be  left  desolate — • 


226  ALONE. 

comfortless  in  the  spring-time  of  life  !  "  He  is,  they  tell  me, 
merciful  and  all-powerful ; — let  Him  give  me  back  my  love,  and 
I  will  believe  in  Him."  And  as  day  by  day  passed,  and  there 
were  no  tidings  of  Carry  or  the  Danas,  she  felt  a  morose  com- 
placency in  the  confirmation  of  her  hard  thoughts  of  them,  and 
in  repeating,  "I  am  not  humbled  yet!" 

"  Uncle  Will  wants  to  know  if  he  can  come  in  to  see  you, 
Miss  Ida,"  said  Rachel,  one  Sabbath  afternoon. 

Ida  was  dressed,  and  rocking  herself  listlessly  before  the  fire. 
"  Let  him  come,"  she  replied,  languidly. 

This  man  was  her  mother's  steward  and  factotum;  a  hale, 
fine-looking  negro;  better  educated  than  the  generality  of  hia 
caste,  and  devotedly  pious.  He  brushed  off  a  tear  with  the 
back  of  his  hand,  as  his  mistress  greeted  him.  He  had  not- 
seen  her  since  she  was  grown,  and  was  moved  by  her  likeness  to 
her  mother. 

"  You  would  not  have  known  me, — would  you,  uncle  Will  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Yes  ma'am;  you  are  your  mother's  own  child." 

"  Indeed !  I  am  called  like  my  father." 

"  You're  like  her,  ma'am — in  body,  and  like  her  in  spirit,  too 
I  hope." 

"No,  Uncle  Will,  you  cannot  expect  that; — ehe  was  an. 
angel." 

"  Better  than  that,  Mistis — she  was  a  Christian  !" 

"  And  how  is  that  better  ?"  said  Ida,  surprised  at  the  reply. 
"  She  is  an  angel  now — is  she  not  ?" 

"  No  ma'am ;  she  is  one  of  the  spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect ; 
and  according  to  my  notion,  that's  better  than  to  be  a  born 
seraph.  Angels  may  praise  and  glorify  the  Lamb,  but  they 
haven't  so  much  to  be  thankful  for  as  we." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you.  They  have  been  happy  from  all 
Eternity;  and  those  who  have  lived  in  this  world,  have  had 
sorrow  and  pain  and  sin — <  mourning  all  their  days.'  " 

"They  needn't,  ma'am — 

'Why  should  the  children  of  a  King 
Go  mourning  all  their  days?'  " 

said  Will  readily — "  He  holds  us  up  under  whatever  trouble  we 
have ;  unless  we  bring  it  upon  ourselves  by  our  transgressions, 


A  L  O  N  E  .  227 

and  He  will  deliver  us  then,  if  we  call  to  Him.  Thi;  Saviour 
is  the  Christian's  glory  and  song — He  didn't  die  for  angels." 

Ida  mused.  "  There  is  a  question  I  wish  to  ask  you,"  said 
she.  "  God  can  do  as  He  pleases; — can  He  not?" 

"  Certainly,  Mistis — '  He  worketh  according  to  the  counsel 
of  His  own  will.'  " 

"  And  He  is  very  pitiful  and  gracious  ?"  she  continued. 

"Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  Mistis." 

"  Then  when  He  knows  that  we  are  miserable  and  sinful  and 
helpless,  why  does  not  He  take  pity  on  us,  and  make  us  good 
and  happy  ?" 

"  He  will,  ma'am." 

"  But  He  does  not.  He  only  waits  for  us  to  love  anything, 
before  He  robs  us  of  it.  So  far  from  liking  to  see  us  happy,  it 
would  seem  that  He  grudged  us  the  poor  crumbs  we  picked  up 
of  ourselves." 

"  Because  they  ain't  good  for  us,  Mistis." 

"  Why  did  He  allow  us  to  take  them,  then  ?  why  wait,  until 
we  have  tasted  and  found  them  sweet,  before  He  snatches  them 
away  ?" 

"  I  remember,  Mistis,  when  you  were  a  little  thing,  no  higher 
than  my  knee,  you  were  mightily  taken  with  some  red  peppers 
growing  in  the  garden.  Your  mother  called  you  away  from  the 
bed,  four  or  five  times,  and  ordered  you  not  to  touch  them.  By 
and  by  I  spied  you  running  down  the  walk  towards  them,  when 
you  thought  she  didn't  see  you ;  and  I  was  starting  in  a  hurry 
to  fetch  you  back,  but  she  stopped  me.  '  No,  Will !'  says  she, 
1  the  punishment  sin  brings  with  it,  is  remembered  longer  than 
a  hundred  warnings.  She  will  have  a  useful  lesson.'  I  was 
loath  to  have  you  hurt;  but  I  had  to  mind  her.  Your  lesson 
was  right  hard ;  for  your  mouth  and  face  and  hands  were  swelled 
and  burning  for  hours.  But  you  didn't  go  near  the  pepper-bed 
again.  And  it  seems  to  me,  ma'am,  that  the  Almighty  treats 
us  just  so.  We  run  crazy  after  things,  that  are  like  the  red 
peppers, — pretty  outside,  but  hot  as  fire  when  we  get  to  playiug 
with  them.  He  doesn't  push  us  towards  them — EG  lets  us  alone  ; 
and  we  are  mighty  apt  to  run  to  Him,  after  we've  got  a  fair  taste. 
You  didn't  know  but  your  mother  would  whip  you  for  disobey- 
ing her;  butyouwei.t  straight  to  her  when  you  felt  the  smart" 


228  ALONE. 

"  This  does  not  follow,  of  course,  uncle  Will.  I  have  tasted 
some  hot  peppers  since  those  days;  and  I  cannot  see  any  mercy 
or  use  in  the  lesson." 

"Maybe  you  haven't  asked  an  explanation,  ma'am.'* 

"  From  whom  ?  from  you  ?" 

"  No  ma'am  !  From  Him,  unto  whom  belong  the  deep  things 
of  the  Almighty.  And  if  He  doesn't  show  you  their  meaning 
now — He  will,  sometime.  Children  are  often  puzzled  at  their 
parents'  dealings." 

As  he  was  leaving,  she  observed  his  wistful  look. 

"  Have  you  any  requests  to  make,  uncle  Will  ?  you  will  not 
ask  anything  unreasonable,  I  know." 

"  I  hope  riot,  ma'am.  You  see — we've  been  in  the  habit  of 
holding  our  Sunday  night  prayer-meetings  in  the  basement-room, 
under  this.  We  used  to  meet  there  in  your  mother's  time.  She 
had  the  room  fixed  on  purpose  for  us.  When  it's  clear  weather, 
in  summer,  we  meet  out-doors; — it's  getting-  cool  now — " 

"And  you  are  afraid  of  disturbing  me ;  is  that  it  ?" 

"Yes  ma'am,"  said  he,  relieved. 

"  You  may  be  quite  easy  as  regards  that.  Has  that  room 
been  ceiled  yet  ?" 

"  No  ma'am — 'twould  have  been  if — you  all  had  stayed 
here." 

"I  am  glad  that  it  is  not.  I  can  hear  your  hymns— how  I 
used  to  love  those  old  tunes !  Have  your  meeting.  I  wish  I 
had  no  other  disturbance  !" 

He  had  got  into  the  entry,  when  she  recalled  him  ;  and  with 
the  sad  smile  she  had  worn  during  their  conversation,  said, 
"Uncle  Will !  if  you  think  I  have  not  done  hankering  after  for- 
bidden fruit,  you  may  pray,  that  I  may  be  cured." 

"  I  will,  Mistis  !  God  bless  you  !" 

She  had  forgotten,  and  Will  did  not  know,  that  all  the  services 
could  be  heard  through  the  floor.  The  worshippers  assembled 
so  quietly,  that  she  was  not  aware  of  this,  until  Will's  tones 
startled  her  with  the  idea  that  he  was  in  the  room.  He  com- 
menced the  exercises  by  reading  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  John's 
gospel.  "  Let  not  your  hearts  be  troubled ;  ye  believe  in  God, 
believe  also  in  me."  He  offered  neither  comment  nor  explana- 
tion. He  was  a  believer  iu  what  ho  called  "  the  pure  Word;" 


ALONE.  229 

"  if  I  can't  comprehend  one  part,"  he  was  wont  to  say,  "  I  com- 
fort myself  by  thinking  that  there  is  so  much  that  is  plain  even 
to  my  weak  understanding."  The  quavering  voice  of  an  aged 
man  led  in  prayer;  and  in  spite  of  its  verbiage  and  incorrect 
grama-.ar,  Ida  listened,  for  it  was  sincere.  They  sang  in  the 
sweet  voices  for  which  the  race  is  so  remarkable, 

"  There  is  a  lanl  of  pure  delight," 

with  a  wild,  beautiful  chorus,  repeated  each  time  with  more 
emphasis  and  fervor — 

"  Oh  sing  to  me  of  Heaven  ! 
In  Heaven  alone,  no  sin  is  known, 
And  there's  no  parting  there !" 

Ida  shut  her  eyes  and  lay  motionless,  lest  she  should  lose  a 
note.  Forgetful  of  her  unholy  enmity  to  her  God — her  distrust 
of  her  kind — borne  upon  the  melody  her  soul  arose  to  Pisgah's 
top,  and  looked  yearningly  upon  the  "sweet  fields  beyond  the 
swelling  flood,"  heard  the  jubilant  song  of  the  redeemed — 

"  In  Heaven  alone,  no  sin  is  known, 
And  there's  no  parting  there  !" 

A  solemn  hush  followed;  and  Will  said,  "Let  us  pray." 
His  deliberate  accents  quickened  into  animation,  with  the  unfold- 
ing of  his  petitions;  spurning  the  fetters  of  his  imperfect  speech, 
his  thoughts  clothed  themselves  in  the  language  of  the  Divine 
Word;  coming  to  a  King,  he  adopted  unconsciously  the  ver- 
nacular of  princes.  In  speaking  of  Ida,  his  manner  was  ear- 
nestly affectionate.  "We  beseech  Thee,  0  Father,  to  deal 
gently  with  thine  handmaid,  whom  thou  hast  set  over  us  in 
worldly  things.  Thou  hast  seen  fit  that  she  should  bear  the 
yoke  in  her  youth,  hast  made  her  to  possess  wearisome  nights, 
^nd  days  of  vanity ;  hast  mingled  her  bread  with  tears,  and  her 
drink  with  weeping ;  Thou  hast  taken  from  her  father  and 
mother, — the  hope  of  her  soul,  and  the  desire  of  her  eyes;  it  is 
the  Lord's  doings,  and  it  is  marvellous  in  our  eyes  and  in  hers. 
Lighten  her  eyes,  Our  Father !  though  weeping  has  endured  for 
a  night.  Thou  hast  promised  that  joy  shall  come  in  the  morning; 
tell  her,  that  no  affliction  for  the  present  seemeth  joyous,  but 
grievous;  but  that  Thou  wilt  make  it  work  out  for  her  an  eternal 
weight  of  glory ;  that  whom  Thou  lovest  Thou  chasteneth,  and 
20 


230  ALONE. 

upon  Thy  Blessed  Son  Thou  didst  lay  the  afflictions  and  ini- 
quities of  us  all.  May  her  hungry  soul  run  to  Him,  from  the 
far  country  in  which  she  has  been  living,  and  may  He  heal  her 
broken  bones,  give  her  the  oil  of  gladness  for  mourning — the 
garment  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of  heaviness." 

The  hot,  dry  channel  was  broken  up,  and  tears  flowed  in  plen- 
teous measure.  From  the  softening  soul  sprang  her  first  real 
prayer.  "  Oh  !  be  my  Father  and  Comforter  I" 

When  Rachel  awoke  in  the  morning,  she  saw  that  her  mis- 
tress had  unbarred  the  shutters  of  the  window  by  her  bed,  and 
was  reading.  Her  face  had  a  still  deeper  shade  of  gloom ;  but 
the  attached  girl  drew  a  favorable  augury  from  this  mark  of 
interest  in  anything,  except  her  own  thoughts.  The  book  was  a 
mother's  gift — a  Bible;  she  had  read  it  with  tolerable  regularity 
for  the  giver's  sake,  but  she  found  herself  now  lamentably  igno- 
rant of  its  contents.  She  read  of  the  unapproachable  purity  of 
the  Immaculate,  of  judgment  and  justice;  denunciation  of  the 
wicked,  and  the  "fearful  looking  for  of  vengeance"  that  remained 
to  rebellious  children ;  in  vain  she  searched  it  for  a  message  to 
her — a  promise  she  could  apply.  Her  alarm  augmented,  as  the 
fruitlessness  of  her  endeavors  became  apparent.  The  life  she 
had  lightly  esteemed  was  inestimably  dear,  as  she  realised  what 
eternity  was ;  and  her  heart  was  still  with  fear  at  the  thought 
of  the  uncertain  tenure  by  which  she  held  it.  In  times  past  she 
would  have  blushed  at  these  shakings  of  spirit;  now  she  could 
not  banish  them.  She  would  not  be  left  alone  an  instant ;  she 
was  afraid  to  sleep,  lest  she  should  not  awake  in  time.  She  had 
said,  «  what  evil  have  I  done  ?"  she  saw  now  that  she  had  com- 
mitted evil,  and  that  continually ;  as  she  beheld  "  idolatry, 
hatred,  variance,  emulation,  wrath,  envyings"  in  the  same  enu- 
meration with  monstrous  vices — a  catalogue  which  brings  to 
our  ears  the  warring  clash  of  Pandemonium,  rendered  more  hor- 
ribly discordant  by  contrast  with  the  gentle  music  of  "  Love,  joy, 
peace,  long-suffering." 

In  angry  despair  she  threw  the  volume  aside  ;  but  tortured 
conscience  drove  her  to  it  again.  "  I  will  be  a  Christian,"  was 
her  primal  resolve, — as  the  terrors  of  the  law  flamed  before  her 
— "  I  must  be  !"  and  a  week  of  labor  and  agony  ended  in  a  total 
sinking  of  hope,  and  an  exhausted  cry,  "  I  cannot !" 


ALONE.  231 

It  was  a  calm  Sabbath  in  the  Indian  Summer,  and  her  chair 
was  wheeled  to  the  door.  The  "  summer's  late,  repentant  smile" 
shone  fondly  upon  the  landscape;  the  russet  fields,  the  dis- 
mantled forests,  the  swift-rolling  river. 

She  had  seen  it  look  just  so,  often;  when  the  breeze  played 
among  the  child's  curls,  and  lent  a  quicker  bound  to  a  light 
heart — but  faded  in  body — prematurely  old  in  spirit — she  saw 
no  beauty  in  earth — had  no  treasure  in  heaven.  Her  Bible  was 
upon  her  knees ;  she  turned  the  pages  indolently,  and  was  say- 
ing, for  the  hundredth  time,  "  No  hope !"  when  a  passage 
appeared  to  start  up  from  the  page.  Could  it  have  been  there 
while  she  sought  it  carefully  and  with  tears?  "The  Lord  hath 
called  thee  as  a  woman,  forsaken  and  grieved  in  spirit ;  and  as  a 
wife  of  youth,  when  thou  wast  refused,  saith  my  God.  For  a 
small  moment  have  I  forsaken  thee,  but  with  great  mercies  will 
I  gather  thee ;  in  a  little  wrath  I  hid  my  face  from  thee  for  a 
moment,  but  with  everlasting  kindness  will  I  have  mercy  upon 
thee,  saith  the  Lord,  thy  Redeemer.  *  *  *  *  Oh  !  thou 
afflicted,  tossed  with  tempests,  and  not  comforted  !  behold,  I  will 
lay  thy  stones  with  fair  colors,  and  lay  thy  foundations  with 
sapphires !" 

As  Will  passed  under  the  window  on  his  way  to  Church,  he 
was  arrested  by  an  unusual  sound.  No  one  was  visible,  but  hia 
heart  and  eyes  ran  over,  as  he  recognised  the  voice  that  sang 
softly— 

"Other  refuge  have  I  none, 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  Thee; 
Leave,  oh  !  leave  me  not  alone, 

Still  support  and  comfort  me. 
All  my  trust  on  Thee  is  stayed, 

All  my  help  from  Thee  I  bring; 
Cover  my  defenceless  head 

With  the  shadow  of  Thy  wing." 


ALONE . 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE  trembling  \vliich  mingled  with  her  transport,  was  so 
foreign  to  Ida's  ardent  temperament,  that  she  doubted  sometimes, 
if  she  had  indeed  found  peace.  But  as  her  filial  love  and  trust 
strengthened  with  time,  she  rejoiced  with  more  hope.  Much  of 
the  old  leaven  was  left;  her  imperious  temper  still  chafed  at 
restraint,  and  she  was  disheartened  at  the  discovery,  that  the 
loveliest  of  the  "  Blessed  Three"  graces  was  most  difficult  to 
practise.  She  leaned  upon  a  Saviour's  arm,  and  was  willing  to 
walk  in  the  ways  of  His  appointment,  but  the  weak  heart  pleaded 
that  He  would  not  send  her  back  into  the  world.  Sweet  Sunny- 
bank,  rich  in  associations ; — with  its  peaceful  duties  and  holy 
enjoyments,  must  be  more  favorable  to  the  advancement  of  her 
new  life  ; — she  hoped  against  hope,  that  she  might  be  permitted 
to  remain.  A  letter  from  her  guardian  settled  the  point.  With 
laconic  terseness,  he  declared  the  thing  "  impossible.  By  her 
father's  will,  the  estate  was  hers,  when  she  was  of  age ;  until 
then,  no  preparatory  step  could  be  taken."  Her  scheme  had 
been  to  invite  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Grant,  an  excellent  woman,  now 
dependent  upon  her  brother-in-law,  to  reside  with  her,  in  the 
capacity  of  housekeeper  and  companion  ;  and  leaving  the  control 
of  her  finances  in  Mr.  Read's  hands,  to  devote  herself  to  the 
improvement  of  her  servants  and  poor  neighbors.  It  was  a  praise- 
worthy enterprise,  and  it  cost  her  a  sharp  pang  to  resign  it,  and 
prepare  for  the  return,  her  guardian  pressed,  "  as_  desirable  and 
proper."  Her  trunks  were  packed  ;  and  she  had  come  in  from 
a  tour  of  the  negro  cabins,  and  a  visit  to  her  mother's  grave,  to 
spend  the  last  twilight  in  the  room  in  which  she  was  born — in 
which  her  mother  had  died.  The  November  blast  howled  in 
the  chimney ; — here  it  was  the  music  of  early  days  j — in  Rich- 
mond, it  would  be  so  dreary  ! 

She  was  not  gloomy,  although  the  firelight  glistened  upon 
cheeks  wet  with  tears ; — she  was  not  going  away,  as  she  had 
coine — alone  j  still  she  was  sad  at  quitting  her  retreat,  and  in  the 
prospect  of  the  temptations  awaiting  her.  There  would  be  trials, 


ALONE.  233 

too — trials  of  faith  and  patience  and  charity — and  trials  of  feel- 
ing— what  if  she  should  be  found  wanting !  But  a  whisper 
tranquilised  her — "  Fear  not — /  am  with  thee  !"  Mrs.  Grant 
opened  the  door.  She  held  a  lamp  whose  rays  blinded  Ida's 
tender  eyes. 

"  A  gentleman  to  see  you,  Miss  Ida, — and  as  there  was  no 
fire  in  the  drawing-room,  I've  asked  him  into  the  dining-room  ;" 
announced  the  dame,  who  was  remarkable  rather  for  sterling 
goodness,  than  for  grace  and  discretion.  The  door  of  communi- 
cation was  wide  open,  and  Ida  had  no  alternative  but  to  walk 
directly  into  the  adjoining  apartment.  Charley  Dana  met  her, 
ere  she  had  advanced  three  steps  beyond  the  doorway.  He  was 
so  shocked  at  her  altered  appearance  that  he  could  not  speak  at 
once,  but  stood,  pressing  her  hands  in  his,  and  gazing  into  her 
face  with  inexpressible  solicitude  and  tenderness.  She  must 
make  an  exertion. 

"  This  is  kind,  Charley  !  Am  I  to  flatter  myself  that  you 
have  turned  out  of  your  way  to  see  me  ?" 

"  No.  I  have  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  I 
came  by  the  most  direct  route  from  Richmond.  Sit  down — you 
are  not  able  to  stand — and  give  an  account  of  yourself.  What 
in  the  name  of  all  that  is  ridiculous  and  outrageous,  brought 
you  here  alone,  and  has  kept  you  here  until  the  middle  of  the 
winter?" 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that,  Charley  !  It  is  only  the  last  month  of 
Autumn.  I  came,  because  I  did  not  want  to  go  North,  and  was 
pining  for  a  sight  of  the  old  place ;  and  have  been  sick  ever 
since.  But  tell  me  of  yourself.  When  did  you  return,  and 
why  have  not  you  written  to  me?" 

"  That  is  what  I  call  '  iced  ! '  said  Charley,  with  a  laugh  that 
sounded  like  former  times.  "  Haven't  I  sent  letters  to  every 
post-office  in  the  Union,  and  not  received  a  line  in  answer,  since 
you  parted  company  with  Arthur  and  Carry  ?  I  arrived  at, 
home,  ten  days  ago.  Mr.  Read  <presumed'  you  were  <yet  in 
the  country,  and  would  be  back  when  you  were  ready  :'  Juhn 
and  Jenny  were  in  the  dark;  had  written  and  inquired  to  no 
purpose:  daily  dispatches  were  pouring  in  from  Arthur,  certify- 
ing that  Carry  was  nearly  deranged  with  anxiety.  Yesterday,  I 
20* 


234  ALONE. 

met  Mr.  Read,  who  told  me  you  had  been  'indisposed/  but  would 
be  down  shortly.  I  asked  your  address,  and  here  I  am  !" 

"You  could  not  be  more  welcome  anywhere)  but  how  unac- 
countable that  your  letters  miscarried  !" 

"  Easily  explained  !  I  stopped  down  the  road,  at  a  house, 
half-tavern,  half-store,  where  I  espied  <  Post  Office/  painted  upon 
a  shingle,  hung  out  of  a  dirty  window ;  and  inquired  the  name 
of  the  place.  '  Thompsonburg/  said  the  P.  M.  '  Burg,'  indeed  ! 
'I  thought  there  was  an  office  in  this  neighbourhood,  called  '  Oak- 
land ;'  "  said  I. 

"  < Oh  !  that's  discontinued  more  than  a  year  ago;'  answered 
he.  '  'Twas  at  the  Cross-roads  below.'  " 

Simple  solution  of  a  mystery  which  had  led  her  to  doubt  her 
best  earthly  friends!  Charley  looked  at  her  intently. 

"  'Indisposition/  forsooth  !     Why,  I'll  be  hanged — " 

"  No  you  wont,  Charley  !     Don't  say  so." 

"  Shot,  then !  if  I  am  sure  that  I  am  not  talking  to  a  spirit ! 
You've  been  to  Death's  door.  What  made  you  sick?" 

"  Oh  !  a  variety  of  causes." 

"  Which  means,  it's  no  business  of  mine  to  inquire.  All  I 
have  to  say  is,  that  your  friends  would  not  have  treated  you,  as 
you  have  them.  If  I  had  died  in  Missouri,  I  would  have  left 
'  good-bye/  and  a  lock  of  my  hair  for  you.  You  might  have 
departed  this  life  twenty  times,  and  we  been  none  the  wiser." 

"  How  quarrelsome  you  are  !  I'll  never  do  so  again,  if  you'll 
forgive  me  this  once." 

"  Forgive  !  I  have  nothing  to  forgive — you  were  privileged 
to  do  as  you  pleased; — only,  if  you  had  said  adieu  to  the  land 
of  the  living,  it  would  have  been  a  gratification  to  us  to  know  it." 

Ida  laughed  out  so  merrily  that  Mrs.  Grant,  who  was  super- 
intending the  setting  of  the  tea-table,  raised  her  spectacles  to 
look  at  her,  and  smiled  gratifiedly.  She  and  her  husband  sat  at 
the  table,  and  the  guest's  "  sociable  ways"  ingratiated  him  with 
them,  before  the  meal  was  half  over.  They  retired  with  tbc 
waiters,  and  Charley,  dropping  his  bantering  tone,  established 
himself  for  a  "quiet  coze."  It  was  strange  that  he  should  be 
the  first  confidant  of  Ida's  change  of  heart; — he,  whom  men 
styled  careless — sometimes  "  scoffer." 

He  did  not  scoff  now ; — he  paid  diligent  heed  to  her  recital, 


ALONE.  235 

and  when  it  was  finished — "  From  my  soul,  I  congratulate  you !" 
he  exclaimed.  "  Would  to  Heaven,  that  I  too  believed !" 

"  You  may  ;"  said  Ida,  timidly. 

"You  do  not  know  the  thickness  of  the  crust  around  my  heart, 
Ida ; — the  unbelief,  and  ingratitude  and  worldliness.  I  can  battle 
with  men,  and  wear  a  bravado  mask ;  but  I  do  not  forget  that  I 
have  a  soul,  and  that  it  must  be  attended  to.  Whether  I  will 
ever  do  it,  I  cannot  say.  I  think  I  must  be  the  most  hardened 
of  sinners; — Lynn's  death  would  have  subdued  a  less  obdurate 
heart; — and  do  you  know  that,  while  thoroughly  persuaded  that 
it  was  a  judgment  aimed  full  at  me — for  he  was  my  dearest 
friend,  and  I  felt  his  loss,  most  of  all  who  mourned  him — I 
hated  the  Power  which  had  dealt  the  blow,  and  scorned  angrily 
the  presumption,  that  I  could  be  forced  into  measures!" 

"  You  were  not  more  wicked  than  I  was.  There  is  not  a  truer 
sentence  in  the  Bible,  than  that  the  'carnal  mind  is  enmity  against 
God.'  Ah  !  Charley  !  if  we  loved  holy  things  more  !  It  is  so 
mortifying  to  find  our  thoughts  straying  away  from  these  sub- 
jects, when  we  are  most  desirous  of  contemplating  them  !" 

«  That  is  the  fault  of  Old  Adam — the  <  body  of  death/  Paul 
writes  of;"  replied  he.  "  I  am  not  much  of  a  .Bible  scholar,  but 
it  strikes  me  he  says  something  in  the  next  verse  of  a  Deliverer, 
1  who  giveth  us  the  victory.'  Why  are  Christians  ever  low-spirited, 
I  wonder." 

And  poor  Ida  upbraided  herself  with  the  same  query,  many 
times  within  the  next  few  days.  She  bore  the  partings  and  the 
journey  better  than  Charley  had  feared  she  would.  He  did  his 
best  to  save  her  pain  and  fatigue,  but  he  saw,  with  secret  reve- 
rence, that  she  was  supported  by  a  stronger  Friend. 

"  We  are  almost  there !"  said  he,  letting  down  the  carriage- 
window,  upon  the  afternoon  of  their  second  day's  travel. 

Ida  leaned  out,  and  beheld  the  spires  and  roofs  of  the  city. 
She  was  unprepared  for  the  effect  the  sight  had  upon  her.  Recol- 
lections of  her  years  of  loneliness ;  the  trials  of  her  home-life ; 
the  one  friendship  of  her  school  days;  a  brother's  fondness,  and 
his  doom;  her  love  and  its  blight — rushed  upon  her  with  over- 
whelming force — she  fell  back  upon  the  cushions,  and  wept  aloud. 
She  had  not  entirely  recovered  her  composure,  when  they  stopped 
at  Mr.  Read's  door,  Josephine  hardly  knew  the  wasted  figure, 


236  ALONE. 

Charley  carried,  rather  than  led  into  the  house ;  and  Mr.  Read 
was,  for  once,  shocked  out  of  his  dignity. 

"  Why  !  Mr.  Dana  !  Miss  Ida !  bless  my  soul  and  body !"  was 
Lis  ^characteristic  exclamation. 

Charley  was  in  no  humour  for  trifling,  or  he  would  have  said, 
"Amen !" 

"  Miss  Ida's  indisposition  was  not  so  unimportant  as  you  sup- 
posed, you  see,  sir;"  said  he  sarcastically.  "Thanks  to  the 
kind  attentions  of  her  country  friends,  she  is  now  convalescent." 

"  Hush,  Charley  !  please!"  said  a  distressed  whisper  from  the 
sofa,  where  he  had  laid  her.  "Mr.  Grant  wrote  to  you,  Mr. 
Read  ;"  said  she,  aloud ;  "  but  as  you  were  travelling,  we  doubted 
whether  you  received  the  letter." 

"I  did  not;"  he  answered,  the  flush  going  off  from  his  brow. 

"  I  was  so  carefully  nursed,  I  did  not  require  other  attention;" 
she  continued.  "I  should  have  regretted  it,  if  your  summer's 
enjoyment  had  been  interrupted  needlessly.  Dr.  Hall,  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Grant  were  untiring  in  their  kindness;  and  Rachel 
here,  ought  to  have  a  diploma  to  practice  medicine.'' 

It  was  a  maxim  with  Mr.  Read,  that  for  every  mischance, 
blame  must  rest  somewhere;  and  Ida,  having  exculpated  him, 
he  could  not  do  less  than  return  the  compliment,  by  pitching  it 
back  upon  her. 

"  I  do  not  presume  to  lecture  you,  Miss  Ross ;  but  you  will 
admit  that  this  freak  of  yours  was  one  of  unsurpassed  impru- 
dence. You  left  my  roof  under  the  protection  of  those,  whom  I 
considered  fit  guardians  for  a  young  lady."  Charley  made  a 
movement  to  speak;  but  Ida's  imploring  glance  restrained  him. 
"  I  hear  nothing  of  you  for  a  long  time ;  and  you  write,  at  last, 
from  an  uninhabited  country-house,  begging  permission  to  take 
up  your  abode  there.  I  refuse  the  preposterous  request,  and  you 
are  brought  home  reduced  and  weakened  by  a  severe  illness,  of 
which  I  have  not  been  informed.  I  cannot  be  responsible  for 
what  the  world  will  say  to  all  this,  Miss  Ross!" 

The  rack  could  not  have  silenced  Charley  now.  "  I  will  tell 
you  what  the  world's  opinion  is,  sir ;  and  hold  you  responsible 
for  your  own  words.  '  The  world'  has  said,  in  my  hearing,  that 
the  guardian,  who  loses  sight  of  a  ward — a  member  of  his  family 
— for  six  months,  without  being  apprised  of,  or  inquiring  into 


ALONE.  237 

her  locality  and  welfare,  is  unworthy  of  his  trust.  And  if  I 
describe  his  reception  of  an  invalid,  who  might  have  perished 
through  neglect,  for  all  he  knew  or  cared — '  the  world,'  sir,  will 
declare  indignantly,  that  he  is  a  disgrace  to  society  and  man- 
kind !  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  at  present.  If  you  take 
exception  to  my  liberty  of  speech,  you  can  call  on  me,  and  relieve 
your  mind.  Miss  Ida,  let  me  recommend  to  you  to  retire ;  Mr. 
Read  will  finish  his  lecture  to  me — good  afternoon,  Miss  Read. 
Sir,  I  have  the  honor  to  bid  you  good-day !" 

Josephine  burst  forth  with  a  torrent  of  invective :  which  Ida 
did  not  stay  to  hear;  nor  did  she  see  either  of  them  again  for 
two  days.  She  was  not  well  enough  to  go  below  ;  and  they 
avoided  her  chamber. 

Mrs.  Dana  called  that  evening.  Ida  was  preparing  for  bed; 
and  she  supplanted  Rachel  as  maid  and  nurse.  Her  softest, 
most  nimble  of  hands  undressed  the  tired,  dispirited  girl ; 
smoothed  the  pillows;  and  gave  her  a  composing  draught;  and 
with  her  kiss  warm  upon  her  lips,  her  pitying  eyes  watching 
over  her,  and  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  at  her  heart,  Ida  fell 
asleep. 

She  learned  to  expect  a  daily  visit  from  this  dear  friend ;  and 
rarely  looked  in  vain.  At  her  third  coming  she  brought  a  note 
from  Charley.  "He  was  happy  to  state;"  he  said;  "  that  the 
skirmish  which  had  excited  her  uneasiness,  had  arrived  at  a 
bloodless  issue.  Mr.  Read  and  himself  had  had  an  interview ; 
he  had  apologised  for  using  language  to  him,  in  his  own  house, 
which  he  considered  himself  justifiable  in  employing  anywhere 
else;  and  Mr.  Read  excused  his  harshness  to  her,  by  represent- 
ing the  excitement  of  surprise  and  alarm,  under  which  he  was 
laboring  at  the  time.  It  was  agreed  the  matter  should  stop 
there — that  is;"  wrote  Charley;  "  that  his  bugbear,  the  world, 
shall  not  get  hold  of  it." 

Josephine  had  received  her  orders;  for  she  carried  her  work 
into  Ida's  chamber,  that  day,  and  sat  one  hour,  to  a  minute, 
never  opening  her  lips,  save  in  monosyllables  to  the  questions 
Ida  forced  herself  to  ask.  Abandoning  seclusion  so  soon  as  she 
had  sufficient  strength,  the  latter  joined  the  family  at  meals,  and 
remained  longer  in  their  society  than  she  was  wont  to  do  for- 
merly ;  and  if  her  hope  of  eventually  conquering  their  dislike 


238  ALONE. 

did  not  increase,  her  meekness  and  patience  did.  She  had  occa- 
sion for  it  all.  Josephine  was  quick  to  discover  that  she  was 
happier  in  her  affliction  and  debility,  than  she  was  in  health  and 
prosperity;  and  when  the  truth  came  to  light,  her  natural 
malignity  to  the  cause,  and  her  hatred  of  its  humble  professor 
triumphed  in  the  fiendish  anticipation  of  how  she  could,  by 
deriding  one,  wound  the  other.  She  would  have  descried  soil 
upon  an  angel's  robe.  Ida  was  a  young  Christian,  contending 
with  the  manifold  disadvantages  of  temper,  habit  and  irreligious 
associates;  and  her  wily  assailant  was  not  passive  long  for  lack 
of  weapons  and  opportunity  for  her  warfare.  Any  symptom  of 
a  convalescent's  irritability ;  the  utterance  of  a  taste  or  opinion, 
which  did  not  tally  with  her  standard  of  consistency,  was  marked 
and  laid  by  for  use ;  and  no  complaisance  or  concession  on  Ida's 
part,  moved  her  purpose.  Mr.  Read  paid  his  pew-rent,  went  to 
church  once  every  fine  Sunday,  and  had  a  pleasant  impression 
that  by  so  doing,  he  was  "keeping  along;"  paying  interest  as 
it  were,  upon  the  debt,  sanguine  that  when  the  distant  pay-day 
arrived,  he  would  be  able,  by  one  prodigious  effort,  to  discharge 
the  principal.  He  "  hated  cant,  because  it  was  silly  and  use- 
less ;"  and  if  he  did  not  chime  in  his  daughter's  slurs  upon  reli- 
gion, and  the  conduct  of  Christians,  he  never  rebuked  her  by 
word  or  sign.  Watchfully,  prayerfully,  Ida  strove  to  keep  her 
feet  in  the  path,  and  by  no  misstep  or  fall,  to  cast  obloquy  upon 
the  name  she  loved. 

Anna  Talbot,  a  friendly,  good-natured  girl — her  brother's 
superior  in  sense  and  feeling,  was  a  near  neighbor ;  and  she  ran 
in  directly  after  breakfast  one  morning,  full  of  a  ball  to  which 
she  was  invited.  Josephine  had  a  ticket  also,  and  was  wishing 
for  her — she  must  consult  her  about  her  dress. 

"  Ma  has  bought  me  a  lovely  white  silk,"  said  Anna.  ''  I 
am  to  wear  sprigged  illusion  over  it — but  oh !  I  was  so  disap- 
pointed! I  wanted  silver-sprigged,  you  know,  like  that  Miss 
What's-her-name,  from  Philadelphia,  wore  to  Mrs.  Porter's 
party — but  although  I  ransacked  every  store  in  the  city,  I  could 
not  find  a  piece.  What  will  you  get,  Josey  ?" 

«  I  have  not  quite  determined." 

«  Do  let  us  dress  alike  !  There  is  another  pattern  of  silk  at 
P V 


ALONE.  239 

"Well!  I  will  look  at  it.  What  head-dress?"  inquired 
Josephine. 

"  Oh !  that's  another  novelty  !  I  saw  two  darling  little  loves 
of  wreaths  down  town — rose-buds  and  lilies-of-the-valley — pure 

white.  I  asked  Mrs.  V to  lay  them  aside  until  to-day.  I 

thought  of  you. 

The  "  darling  little  loves"  were  pronounced  aufait. 

"  What  ornaments?"  said  Josephine,  who  was  in  her  element. 

Anna  made  a  gesture  of  despair.  "There's  the  trouble!  I 
have  nothing  but  those  rubies,  and  they  will  not  do  at  all.  I 
dislike  to  go  without  any ;  but  it  cannot  be  helped." 

"Pearls  would  correspond  well  with  your  dress/'  observed 
Ida. 

"  Ah,  yes !  my  dear !  and  if  I  had  a  pearl  fishery,  I  would 
draw  upon  my  divers  forthwith ; — unfortunately  I  have  not." 

"  Are  you  certain  ?"  returned  Ida,  smiling.  "  Imagine  me  a 
diver.  I  have  a  neat  set,  which  is  at  your  service,  if  you  will 
honor  me  by  wearing  it." 

"  Oh !  you  dearest  of  girls !"  exclaimed  Anna.  "  But  you 
want  them  yourself — I  beg  your  pardon — I  forgot  you  were  in 
mourning ; — but  your  black  is  not  too  deep  for  ornaments." 

"  But  her  odor  of  sanctity  is  too  strong,"  said  Josephine. 
"  She  has  renounced  the  pomps  and  vanities  you  and  I  love, 
Anna,  and  'put  on  the  ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit.' 
How  do  you  reconcile  it  with  your  conscience,  to  let  your  pearls 
attend  a  ball,  Ida?  How  much  scouring  and  praying  will  cleanse 
them  again  for  your  use  ?" 

"  Oh !  I  will  get  you  or  Anna  to  air  them  for  me,  once  in  a 
while,  and  trust  to  time  to  purify  them,"  said  Ida,  willing  to 
pass  it  off  as  a  joke. 

"Do  you  really  think  it  sinful  to  go  to  balls?"  asked  Anna, 
wonderingly. 

"  I  could  not  do  it  innocently,"  replied  Ida. 

"  Why  not  ?  you  used  to  like  them  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us." 

"  For  pity's  sake  !  no  sermonising  !"  rudely  interrupted  Jose- 
phine. "  I  can  show  you  the  root  of  her  piety  in  two  worda. 
Don't  you  remember  a  certain  gentleman,  whose  handsome  face 
and  saintly  smile  set  off  his  religion  so  well  ?" 

"Oh!"  laughed  Anna;  "but  I  thought  he  liked  her  very 
well  as  she  was  " 


240  ALONE. 

"  Nothing  like  making  assurance  doubly  sure !"  answered  the 
other.  "  Pity  he  did  not  return  to  town  this  winter.  Love's 
labor  is  lost." 

"Why,  Ida!  what  a  flirt  you  are !"  cried  Anna.  "When 
everybody  says  you  are  engaged  to  Mr.  Dana !" 

"  Everybody  is  wrong,  then,"  said  Ida,  calmly. 

"  Everybody  is  riyht!"  contradicted  Josephine.  "  She  reads 
in  her  Bible,  that  she  <  must  love  all  men ;'  and  her  being  in 
mourning  for  one  beau,  and  dying  with  love  for  another,  are  no 
impediments  to  her  engagement  with  a  third.  This  is  Pla- 
tonism  with  a  vengeance." 

"  Fie !  Josephine  !"  said  Anna,  perceiving  by  Ida's  face,  that 
the  pleasantry,  as  she  still  thought  it,  was  going  too  far.  "  You 
know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  Mr.  Holmes  was  only  a  friend.  Mrs. 
Dana  is  in  black  for  him  too — it  is  as  reasonable  to  say  that  she 
was  in  love  with  him." 

"  She  may  have  been,  for  anything  I  know  to  the  contrary;" 
retorted  Josephine,  growing  more  and  more  insolent.  "  I  don't 
pretend  to  understand  the  morals  of  <  the  clique.'  " 

"  I  am  going  up  stairs,  Anna,"  said  Ida,  "  and  will  send  you 
the  pearls.  If  they  please  you,  you  are  welcome  to  them,  when- 
ever you  wish  them." 

Anna  pulled  her  down.  "  Don't  go  !  I  want  to  talk  with  you. 
You  must  not  regard  Josephine's  nonsense — it  is  only  a  foolish 
jest." 

"  One,  which  must  not  be  repeated !"  said  Ida.  "  I  may  not 
notice  an  insult  to  myself,  but  if  my  friends  are  slandered,  I 
irust  defend  them." 

"  Defend  them,  as  long  and  loud  as  you  choose ;"  replied 
Josephine,  retaining  her  disagreeable  smile  and  tone.  "  Recrimi- 
nate too,  if  you  like.  It  is  but  politic  in  you  to  fight  for  your 
patrons.  Aha !  that  flash  of  the  eye  was  Christian-like !  Did 
you  never  observe,  Anna,  that  when  the  '  brethren'  are  wrought 
up  to  the  belligerent  point,  they  are  the  fiercest  of  combatants  ?" 

Ida  hurried  up  stairs — threw  herself  upon  the  bed,  and  cried 
bitterly;  unobservant  of  Eachel's  presence. 

"  Oh  !  Father !  pity  me !  I  am  so  weak  and  wicked !"  she 
prayed. 

Rachel  went  out  boiling  with  rage. 


ALONE.  241 

"  More  of  that  Evil's  work !  Hope  I  may  be  forgiven  for 
Baying  sech  a  word,  but  if  she  didn't  come  from  the  bottomless 
ditch,  I  should  jist  like  to  be  re-formed  whar  she  was  made  !  I 
know  mighty  well  whar  she'll  go.  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  stand  it! 
Miss  Ida  shan't  be  terrified  forever  and  ever.  I'll  speak  my 
tnind  to  Miss  Jenny,  before  I'm  a  day  older;  maybe  Mars'  John 
can  get  her  away  from  this  dreadful  place.  Miss  Ida'd  never 
forgive  me ;  but  she  needn't  know  nothin'  about  my  tellin' !" 

"  Miss  Jenny"  heard  her  with  indignant  astonishment ;  but 
giving  her  no  encouragement  to  proceed  with  her  tale,  or  to  hope 
for  an  amelioration  of  her  mistress'  condition,  merely  said  she 
was  sorry  she  could  do  nothing  for  her;  and  advised  her  to 
imitate  Ida's  prudence  and  silence ;  counsel  which  confirmed 
Rachel's  skepticism  in  "  white  folks'  friendship."  Ida  thought 
Cha-rley  kinder  than  ever,  that  evening.  If  he  had  known  the 
severity  of  her  day's  discipline,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
tender  and  consolatory.  His  inattention  to  Josephine,  who  also 
had  visitors,  troubled  her  somewhat;  but  she  had  the  comforting 
reflection  that  she  was  not  to  blame  for  it.  The  day  of  the  ball, 
he  took  her  and  Mrs.  Dana  to  ride.  They  called  at  the  residence 
of  a  country  friend,  to  whose  green-house  Charley  had  the  entree; 
and  he  improved  his  privilege  by  culling  a  bouquet  of  Camelias, 
tea-roses  and  orange  blossoms  "for  the  belle  of  the  ball;"  he  told 
his  hostess.  When  they  were  again  in  the  carriage,  he  handed 
them  to  Ida,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  have  no  idea  of  going  to  the 
ball,  and  you  would  be  the  belle,  if  you  were  to  attend ;  so  there 
was  no  fibbing,  was  there  ?"  The  flowers  were  beautiful,  and  at 
this  season,  very  rare;  and  Ida  bore  them  home  carefully,  and 
put  them  in  water  in  her  room.  They  were  sweet  company;  she 
could  only  watch,  and  pet,  and  talk  to  them  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Mr.  Read  was  uncommonly  jocose  at  supper  time. 

"  Make  yourself  pretty,  Josey,"  said  he,  lighting  his  lamp; 
"  you  don't  have  me  to  escort  you  every  evening." 

Josephine  looked  after  him  with  a  sneer.  "  A  mighty  honor ! 
If  he  had  a  spark  of  generosity  or  politeness,  he  would  have 
bought  me  a  bouquet,  if  they  do  ask  such  enormous  prices.  I 
have  a  good  mind  not  to  go,  I  shall  feel  so  mean  without  one." 

Ida  said  she  regretted  it;  and  she  did  feel  for  her.  She  knew, 
that  to  party-goers,  these  little  things  are  no  trifles;  she  had 
21 


242  ALONE. 

seen  a  girl  dull  or  sulky  for  an  entire  evening,  because  of  a 
deficiency  of  this  sort. 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  her,"  she  was  saying  to  herself,  as  she 
returned  to  her  apartment.  The  aroma  that  stole  upon  her  senses 
said,  "you  can."  She  was  no  heroine,  for  she  stood  over  her 
flowers,  and  doubted  and  pondered  for  a  good  half  hour,  before 
her  wavering  mind  rested  upon  its  pivot;  and  then  a  tear  bedewed 
a  Camelia's  spotless  bosom,  as  she  emptied  the  vase,  and  saying 
aloud,  "If  thine  enemy  thirst,  give  him  drink,"  set  about  arrang- 
ing them  anew.  Her  Christmas  rose-tree  was  hanging  with  buds, 
which,  on  the  morrow,  would  be  blossoms,  but  she  despoiled  it  of 
its  nodding  pearls;  and  adding  geraniums  and  citronaloes,  com- 
pleted as  tasteful  a  bouquet,  as  ever  bloomed  under  the  fingers 
of  a  fashionable  florist. 

She  gave  it  to  Josephine,  when  she  came  into  the  parlor  to 
survey  her  full-length  figure  in  the  tall  glass. 

"  Oh !  how  lovely !"  she  exclaimed  involuntarily ;  then 
recovering  herself,  said  coldly,  "They  are  pretty;"  and  returned 
them. 

"  They  are  for  you,"  said  Ida. 

"  Who  sent  them  ?" 

"  They  were  presented  to  me ;  and  as  their  beauty  is  wasted 
upon  the  <  desert  air*  of  my  chamber,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you 
to  display  them." 

Josephine  would  have  rejected  the  generous  offer,  if  there  had 
been  the  remotest  chance  of  another ;  but  it  was  late,  and  she 
could  not  go  bouquetless. 

"  Who  gave  them  to  you  ?"  she  asked. 

Ida  paused,  then  replied,  "  Mr.  Dana." 

"  He  will  know  them ;  I  had  rather  go  without  any." 

"  No  danger  of  that !  he  will  not  be  there."  Her  patience 
was  nearly  spent.  Josephine  accepted  the  gift  with  a  very  bad 
grace ;  she  was  awkward  and  embarrassed,  and  what  appears 
more  improbable,  a  little  ashamed.  Mr.  Head  was  attired  with 
scrupulous  neatness  and  elegance,  and  looked  ten  years  younger 
than  he  really  was.  Ida  "  presumed"  to  tell  him  so,  and  was 
recompensed  by  a  bland  smile.  She  had  done  her  duty,  per- 
haps more,  and  she  did  not  repent  of  her  self-denial;  but  some- 
thing of  the  desolate  feeling  of  "  lang-syne"  fell  upon  her,  as 


ALONE.  243 

she  was  left,  sole  tenant  of  the  parlor  and  the  house.  Weak 
and  weary,  she  sighed  for  human  society  and  affection.  It  was 
a  darkened  hour ;  clouded  by  self-doubtings,  mournful  memories 
and  forebodings.  The  piano  was  open ;  she  had  not  touched  it 
since  her  arrival  at  home;  but  she  went  to  it  now;  only  plaintive 
tunes  came  to  her  fingers ;  she  played  fitfully,  as  her  mood  dis- 
posed her;  the  music  was  the  voice  of  her  thoughts;  and  she 
sang  to  a  rambling,  irregular  measure — 

"  I  am  alone — the  last  light  tread 

And  laugh  have  died  upon  my  ear; 
And  I  may  weep  unchecked — nor  dread 

The  scorn,  that  forces  back  the  tear. 
I  turn  to  Thee !  oh !  when  the  strings, 

The  trustful  heart  has  fondly  thrown, 
Wound  closely  round  its  best-loved  things- 
Are,  by  one  stroke,  asunder  torn, 
And  bleeding,  crushed,  uncared  for,  lie^ 

When  Hope's  gay  smile  no  joy  can  throw, 
And  the  soul  breathes  but  one  wish — to  die! 

To  whom  else  can  the  suffering  go? 
Thou — Thou  dost  look  within,  and  read 

How  I  have  sought  for  love,  and  found 
Reproach  instead — how  in  its  need 

My  spirit  bowed  it  to  the  ground, — 
E'en  to  the  dust — and  deemed  it  nought 

Bore  patiently,  when  pained  and  wronged 
And  smiled  on  sorrow,  if  it  brought 

The  priceless  boon  for  which  it  longed. 
In  vain !  in  vain  !  and  now  I  come — 

As  to  her  nest  the  dove  doth  flee; 
Give  Thou  my  wandering  heart  a  home — 

And  bind  its  shattered  chords  to  Thee  !" 

"  My  poor  child !  are  you  then  so  sad  ?" 

She  knew  the  hand  upon  her  drooping  head  before  he  spoke ; 
and  with  a  prayer  for  support,  that  calmed  her  fluttering  heart, 
arose  to  greet  him. 

"  Am  I  forgiven  for  my  intrusion  ?"  said  he,  leading  her  to  a 
chair.  "  The  front  door  was  ajar,  and  hearing  your  music,  I 
entered  without  ringing." 

"  Freely  pardoned  !     Have  you  been  in  town  long  7" 

"  Since  five  o'clock  this  afternoon.  I  am  on  my  way  to  the 
south  with  Annie.  She  is  ordered  to  winter  in  Florida.  Go 
with  us — will  you  not  ?  Charley  supped  with  us ;  and  Annie 
proposed  this  plan  on  hearing  of  your  feeble  health.  She  will 
wait  until  you  are  ready  if  you  comply." 


244  ALONE. 

"  I  am  very  grateful  for  her  kindness ;  but  I  cannot  avail 
myself  of  it." 

"Are  there  any  'propriety  scruples?'"  inquired  he,  smiling. 
"You  will  be  her  companion;  and  the  most  fastidious  cannot 
object  to  the  escort  of  a  brother,  and — an  engaged  man." 

She  was  fortified  against  even  this.  Her  arch  glance  hid  the 
heart-pang  faithfully.  "  Where  is  slie  ?"  she  questioned. 

"  Lelia  ?  at  her  father's  house  in  S .  Here  is  her  coun- 
terfeit." He  unclasped  a  locket. 

"It  is  like  Carry  !"  said  Ida;  then  she  scanned  it  long  and 
earnestly.  She  was  very  beautiful ;  with  large,  blue  eyes ;  and 
a  cherry  mouth,  just  parted  in  a  smile;  and  shining  hair,  folded 
above  the  smooth  forehead — fair  enough  for  him  !  and  as  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  say  how^  lovely  she  was,  she  beheld  herself  in 
the  glass  opposite — wan,  hollow-eyed  and  sallow — and  felt  how 
presumptuous — how  reckless  in  its  folly,  her  dream  had  been  ! 
He  shut  the  spring,  without  looking  at  it  himself,  (it  was  delicate 
and  considerate  to  avoid  the  comparison  !)  and  making  no  reply 
to  her  praises  of  his  betrothed,  began  to  speak  of  the  bond  of 
fellowship,  formed  between  themselves,  since  their  parting.  She 
had  been  discouraged  by  her  inability  to  talk  of  what  was  ever 
in  her  mind  ;  had  distrusted  the  genuineness  of  her  faith,  because 
her  tongue  faltered  in  telling  of  the  love  which  had  redeemed 
her.  He  entered  fully  info  her  feelings ;  and  she  surprised  her- 
self by  the  freedom  the  consciousness  of  this  afforded  her.  He  told 
her  of  his  difficulties  and  temptations  and  conflicts,  often  antici- 
pating what  she  would  have  related  of  her  own  experience.  So 
well  did  his  counsels  and  comfort  meet  the  inquiries  and  wants 
of  her  spirit,  that  she  debated  within  herself  whether  he  were 
not  sent  by  heaven — a  special  messenger  in  her  hour  of  trial. 

"  Say  on !"  said  he,  encouragingly,  as  he  caught  her  eye. 

"I  was  about  to  ask  if  you  believed  in  what  are  termed 
minute  or  particular  Providences." 

"  As  in  my  existence  !  even  to  the  numbering  of  the  hairs  of 
any  head.  You  have  not  been  troubling  your  brain  with  quib- 
blingsupon  this  subject,  I  hope?" 

"  No  ;  but  I  have  heard  it  disputed  by  very  good  people,  who 
confuse  me  by  their  'free  agency/  and  'accountability/  and 
'decrees.'  " 


ALONE.  245 

"  Discard  theories,  and  eschew  arguments.  Let  your  Bible 
and  your  common  sense  be  your  teachers.  As  a  machinist 
fashions  the  minutest  cog  of  the  smallest  wheel,  as  carefully  as 
the  mighty  lever,  the  main  power, — so  the  Supreme  Governor 
looks  to  the  balance  of  the  tiniest  atom  in  His  universe." 

"  Then,"  said  Ida ;  »  I  do  not  commit  presumption  when  I 
trace  my  Father's  hand  in  every-day  events ;  when  I  lift  up  my 
soul  in  thankfulness  for  a  pleasant,  or  ennobling  thought,  a 
visit,  a  gift,  an  act  of  friendship,  which  has  made  me  better  or 
happier — or  say  '  Thy  will  be  done  ?'  in  the  petty  trials,  which 
annoy,  rather  than  afflict  us !" 

"  It  is  your  privilege  and  duty.  The  introductory  sentence 
of  the  Lord's  Prayer  is  sufficient  to  inculcate  this  truth.  <  Our 
Father — '  is  not  a  father's  care  constant  ?  He  says  moreover — 
1  we  must  become  as  little  children.'  Who  relies  more  than  a 
child  ?  { As  thy  day  is,  so  shall  thy  strength  be  '} — '  no  matter 
where,  or  how  we  are  placed,  God  will  give  us  the  requisite 
strength ;  and  as  our  positions  are  changing  every  moment,  dees 
not  this  say  that  He  will  be  with  us  every  moment,  and  order 
the  success  of  whatever  we  attempt,  by  the  amount  of  strength 
He  imparts  ?  And  again,  <  not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground 
without  your  Father.'  Nothing  which  God  does  is  small,  and 
He  <  orders  all  things  according  to  the  counsel  of  His  own  will.' 
Then  nothing  is  insignificant,  because  God  orders  everything. 
Our  actions  may  appear  trivial;  but  do  they  not  assume  a  ter- 
rible importance,  when  we  learn  that  even  our  fleeting  words  are 
to  be  the  data  of  our  judgment,  at  the  last  day  ?  A  few  good 
people  doubt  the  doctrine  of  ( special  Providences;'  but  is  it  not 
better  for  us  to  believe  what  God  says  of  his  character,  than  to 
determine  what  character  he  ought  to  have  ?  If  He  says  He  is 
the  God  of  <  the  hairs  of  our  heads — '  of  <  sparrows'  and  lilies 
of  the  field — all  we  have  to  do,  is  to  take  His  word  for  truth, 
and  act  accordingly.  His  attention  to  small  things  is  as  con- 
clusive a  proof  of  His  Divinity,  as  to  great  ones.  It  has  been 
well  said,  that  '  man  cannot  comprehend  the  Infinitely  great, 
nor  the  Infinitely  small.'  But  I  weary  you." 

"You  do  not — I  am  interested  and  instructed.  I  am  but  a 
babe  in  leading-strings ;  so  weak  and  ignorant,  it  terrifies  me  to 
21* 


246  ALONE. 

think  of  the  possibility  that  I  will  be  obliged  to  take  a  single 
step  without  holding  my  Father's  hand." 

"  That  is  what  none  of  us  are  called  upon  to  do,  Ida.  <  I  will 
never  leave  thee,  nor  forsake  thee.'  <  Even  there  shall  thy  hand 
lead  me,  and  Thy  right  hand  shall  hold  me.'  We  could  not 
stand  alone  an  instant,  were  this  '  right  hand'  withdrawn." 

"  Charley,  who  strews  many  pearls  among  the  rubbish  he 
scatters  abroad,  once  set  me  to  thinking  seriously — I  hope, 
not  unprofitably,  by  wondering  why  Christians  were  ever  low- 
spirited,"  said  Ida.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  they  would  not  be, 
"tf  their  confidence  in  God  were  implicit  and  abiding ;  but  I  am 
often  sad — almost  desponding." 

"  To-night,  for  instance,"  said  Mr.  Lacy,  cheerfully.  "  '  This 
kind  goeth  not  out,  but  by  prayer;'  and  you  must  not  be  cast 
down,  that  you  cannot,  in  a  month,  overcome  a  habit  of  years. 
Humanly  speaking,  you  have  had  much  to  embitter  your  lot ; — 
but  as  we  can,  in  reviewing  our  past  lives,  see  many  events 
which,  Janus-like,  approached  us  frowningly,  now  changed  to 
smiles  of  blessing,  ought  we  not,  with  this  attestation  of  expe- 
rience to  the  truth  of  His  promises,  to  trust  Him  in  the  dark 
ways  we  now  tread  ?" 

"Poor  Lynn!"  her  full  eyes  overflowed.  "How  frequently 
I  am  reminded  of  his — 

'I  am  blind  !  in  rough  paths  groping 
With  outstretched  hands  and  sightless  eyes!'" 

"Let  us  hope  that  the  Everlasting  arms  received  him,"  said 
Mr.  Lacy.  "I  feared  to  speak  of  him  to  you,  Ida;  knowing, 
as  I  do,  that  upon  a  heart  like  yours,  such  a  blow  must  have 
left  indelible  traces.  You  have  not — you  never  will  forget  him, 
but  can  you  not  believe  that  this,  too,  was  intended  for  your 
good?" 

"  I  do— although  at  the  time,  it  seemed  very  hard  that  from 
my  meagre  list  of  friends,  one  so  necessary  to  my  happiness, 
should  be  stricken.  I  may  never  meet  another,  who  will  give 
me  affection  so  fond,  yet  so  disinterested." 

"  Disinterested !  that  is  a  term  not  generally  applied  to  love 
which  leads  to  betrothal." 

"  Mr.  Lacy  !"  ejaculated  Ida,  astonished.  "  But  no !  you 
knew  us  too  well  ?  did  Lynn  never  tell  you — "  she  stopped. 


ALONE.  247 

"  No,  I  first  heard  of  your  engagement  from  a  third  person ; 
you  confirmed  it,  subsequently," 

"What  do  you  mean?  you  are  under  a  strange  misapprehen- 
sion. I  never  was  betrothed  to  Lynn  j  he  never  thought  of  me 
but  as  a  friend." 

"  Ida !"  his  tone  was  stern.  "  What  are  you  saying  ?  Have 
you  forgotten  the  night  you  left  my  side  for  his,  upon  seeing  his 
dejection — the  long  promenade,  and  his  reproaches  for  what  he 
deemed — wrongfully,  as  I  am  now  assured — was  coquetry  in 
you?  I  was  told  then,  what  I  had  heard,  without  heeding 
before,  that  you  were  plighted  lovers.  So  confirmed  was  I  in 
my  disbelief  that  I  would  have  declared  it,  in  defiance  of  the  proofs 
presented  to  me,  had  I  not  overheard  by  accident  a  portion  of 
your  conversation.  He  said — (I  remember  it  well !) — <  I  have 
loved  you  as  man  never  loved  woman  before — have  believed  you 
pure  and  high-minded.  If  I  thought  that  the  despicable  coquetry 
you  hint  at,  had  caused  you  to  insist  upon  the  concealment  of 
our  engagement — '  I  lost  the  rest.  Is  not  this  enough  ?  must  1 
harrow  your  feelings  by  recurring  to  your  appeal  to  me  to  save 
him  from  crime  and  death  for  your  sake ; — or  to  the  awful  hour 
when  you  were  summoned  to  receive  his  last  sigh?  Oh!  Ida! 
Ida !  I  have  trusted  in  your  truth — do  not  shake  my  faith  now  I" 

There  was  bewilderment,  but  not  falsehood  in  the  eyes  that 
sustained  his  rebuking  glance.  "  I  have  spoken  the  truth.  The 
sentence  which  misled  you,  was  the  repetition  of  a  remark  made 
to  another ; — the  whisper  in  his  dying  hour,  a  message  to  the 
same.  To  me — I  repeat — he  was  a  brother,  devoted  and  true 
to  the  last — but  nothing  more." 

His  lips  were  ashy  white; — his  self-command  had  utterly 
deserted  him. 

"I  have  been  terribly  deceived  I"  he  said,  rising  and  pacing 
the  floor.  « Ida !"  he  resumed,  coming  back  to  her  side,  "  we 
have  spoken  ef  the  mysterious  dealings  of  Providence,  I  did 
not  think  my  trust  would  be  tested  so  soon.  You  have  unwit- 
tingly awakened  a  pain,  I  thought  was  stilled  forever,  and  jus- 
tice to  you,  and  to  myself,  requires  me  to  endure  it  yet  awhile 
longer.  We  are  friends — we  can  never  be  anything  nearer — 
but  if  I  were  the  husband,  instead  of  the  betrothed  of  another, 
I  should  feel  bound  to  clear  my  honor  from  the  aspersion  my 


248  ALONE. 

conduct  has  cast  upon  it.  My  actions — my  language,  must 
have  convinced  you  that  I  loved  you  ; — you  were  ignorant  of  the 
mistake  into  which  I  had  fallen — what  interpretation  have  you 
put  upon  my  course,  since  ?  You  did  not  misconstrue  my  atten- 
tions then — tell  me— am  I  a  knave — a  hypocrite  in  your  sight?" 

"Never!"  said  she,  lifting  a  face,  as  pale  as  his  own.  "My 
confidence  in  your  friendship  and  integrity  has  not  swerved,  and 
there  lives  not  one  who  will  pray  for  your  happiness  with  'more 
sincerity;  who  is  more  thankful  for  your  noble  renunciation  of 
personal  feeling  to  advance  her  welfare.  We  are  friends  1  we 
will  forget  everything  but  this." 

She  was  standing  before  him ;  and  while  speaking,  laid  her 
hand  in  his.  He  gazed  silently  into  the  countenance,  so  elevated 
in  its  look  of  heroic  self-devotion. 

"  You  have  chosen  one  far  more  worthy  of  you  than  I  could 
ever  have  been ; — you  will  be  very  happy  together.  I  hope  to 
meet  her  some  day,  and  love  her,  as  all  must  love  the  beautiful 
and  good.  There  is  a  consolation  those  friends  have  at  parting,, 
whose  home  is  not  here; — that,  although  we  walk  in  different 
pathways  on  earth,  they  all  lead  to  our  abiding-place — Heaven." 
With  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  he  drew  her  to  him,  and  pressed 
his  lips  to  her  brow !  He  was  gone !  and  the  poor  human  heart 
bled  from  the  slow  torture  to  which  it  had  been  put.  He  had 
not  dreamed  of  it, — had  not  suspected,  when  her  steady,  sweet 
tones  told  him  of  their  separate  pathways,  that  her  soul  was 
reaching,  in  intense  yearnings,  towards  the  lightsome  way, 
where  flowers  sprang  beneath  his  steps,  and  shuddering  at  the 
tomb-like  chill  of  that  which  echoed  her  lonely  foot-fall.  He 
was  gone !  and  the  weeping  eyes  which  sought  Heaven,  showed 
from  whence  she  had  derived  the  supernatural  strength  which 
had  borne  her  through  the  trying  interview; — and  with  the  cry 
of  unspeakable  sorrow  that  succeeded  his  departure,  arose  a  peti- 
tion for  larger  supplies.  It  was  granted.  She  wept  still;  but 
not  in  wretchedness.  Solemn,  pure  resolutions  were  growing 
up  beneath  the  waves  of  grief.  The  destruction  of  this  hope — 
the  dearest  in  a  woman's  heart,  was  the  fall  of  a  proud  plant, — 
the  garden's  pride — in  its  matured  beauty.  Buds  and  blooms 
wilt  and  perish  upon  the  stalk,  but  from  the  laden  seed-vessels 
are  showered  far  and  wide  germs  that  shall  rejoice  many  hearts 
with  the  sweetness  and  loveliness  their  parent  garnered  frv  /~~p- 


ALONE.  249 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

IT  was  so  cold  and  damp  in  the  morning,  that  Rachel,  in  virtue 
of  her  nursely  prerogatives,  forbade  her  mistress'  rising  before 
breakfast.  Ida  was  not  averse  to  keeping  her  room.  She 
wished  to  achieve  another  victory  over  herself  before  meeting 
Josephine.  A  suspicion  of  her  agency  in  Mr.  Lacy's  deception 
ripened,  upon  reflection,  into  a  certainty,  her  love  of  justice 
prompted  her  to  banish.  But  a  hundred  incidents  occurred  to 
her  memory.  Especially,  she  recollected  that  Josephine  had 
accosted  him,  directly  after  she  had  taken  Lynn's  arm  in  the 
Fair-room,  that  she  was  still  with  him  at  the  close  of  the  even- 
ing, and  that  he  had  looked  sorrowfully — reproachfully  at  her. 
She  had  no  just  conception  of  the  girl's  total  destitution  of  prin- 
ciple, nor  of  her  envy  of  herself;  but  she  knew  her  to  be  weak, 
vain  and  spiteful ;  and  against  her  will,  she  had  to  credit  a  con- 
clusion, she  judged  uncharitable.  She  did  not  desire  to  ascer- 
tain its  truth;  it  could  make  no  difference  at  this  late  date. 
Another  perplexity  assailed  her; — should  she  tell  Josephine  of 
the  visit  she  had  had  ?  Should  she  hear  of  it  from  some  other 
source,  or  by  a  direct  inquiry  of  herself,  whether  she  had  spent 
the  evening  alone — what  conjectures  might  not  be  formed  as  to 
the  motive  of  her  silence  ?  She  was  deliberating  thus,  when  the 
door  flew  back,  and  Josephine  walked  in.  Ida,  nervously  excit- 
able, started  from  her  pillow,  and  clasped  her  hands  in  speech- 
less alarm  at  the  suddenness  and  disorder  of  her  appearance. 
She  was  frightfully  pallid,  and  her  eyes  were  inflamed  with 
weeping  and  rage. 

Locking  the  door,  she  advanced  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and 
grasped  the  post  tightly,  as  if  to  brace  herself  for  some'  desperate 
act.  Ida  could  not  stir,  and  the  two  regarded  each  other  for  a 
moment  without  a  word.  Josephine  was  torn  by  some  fearful 
conflict :  Ida  had  never  seen  her  eyes  dimmed  by  a  tear ;  and 
when  the  struggle  for  language  ended  in  a  tempestuous  burst  of 
weeping,  the  thought  flashed  over  her,  that  she  was  bereft  of 


250  ALONE. 

"  Josephine  !  what  has  happened  ?"  she  could  scarcely  utter. 

Josephine  dashed  off  the  thick-coming  drops. 

"  Happened !  yes !  it  will  not  matter  to  you,  who  can  leave 
this  abominable  place  in  two  years — or  to-morrow,  if  you  choose 
to  have  your  own  way.  /  am  to  stay,  and  be  pushed  about,  and 
lectured  and  ruled  by  a  hideous  vixen !  I  could  kill  her,  and 
him  too !" 

"  Are  you  raving  ?    Who  is  it  ?" 

"  His  wife  !  the  dotard !  the  foolish  old  greybeard  1" 

"  Josephine  !  you  cannot  mean  your  father !" 

"  I  do  mean  him ;  and  he  -is  a  doting  fool,  to  be  playing  the 
sighing  lover  at  his  age — and  to  whom  ?  A  baby-faced  chit,  just 
out  of  her  teens !  a  spoiled  doll  of  a  thing  whose  prattle  and 
tricks  have  addled  his  brains — if  he  ever  had  any.  I  won't  stay 
here  !  I  will  beg  my  bread  in  the  street  first !" 

"But  he  is  not  married  yet;  you  maybe  mistaken.  How 
did  your  hear  it  Y' 

"  From  himself,  on  our  way  to  that  detestable  ball.  I  wish 
he,  and  she,  and  it,  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  Dead  Sea  !  He 
commenced  <  Josey,  my  dear  !' — Oh,  the  deceitful  villain  !" 

"  Josephine  !"  said  Ida,  shuddering. 

"  He  is  !  and  I  will  say  it !  '  Josey ' — said  he,  simpering  and 
giggling  like  a  shame-faced  school-boy — <  Can  you  guess  why 
I  consented  to  your  having  that  dress  Y' 

"  Because  I  liked  it — I  suppose,  sir." 

"  <  No,  my  dear ; — I  had  my  reasons  for  wishing  you  to  look 
well  to-night.  I  expect  to  meet  a  friend  at  the  ball,  to  whom  I 
shall  introduce  you.' 

"  Who  is  it,  sir  ?  may  I  ask  ?"  said  I. 

"  He  giggled  and  winked — oh  !  so  disgustingly  !  <  Did  you 
imagine  that  I  was  idle  all  the  time  I  was  in  the  country  ?  You 
were  flirting  at  the  Springs,  and  I  concluded  to  try  my  hand. 
You  have  too  much  care  upon  you,  for  so  young  a  person;  what 
do  you  say  to  my  engaging  a  '  help  ?' 

«  A  housekeeper  would  be  a  convenience ;"  answered  I. 

«  <  A  ball  is  a  proper  place  to  hunt  up  housekeepers  !'  said  he, 
blazing  out.  <  No  airs,  miss  !  you  understand  me  !  I  am  to  be 
married  in  a  fortnight,  and  you  may  as  well  take  it  quietly — 
or  it  will  be  worse  for  you.' 


ALONE.  251 

"It  is  too  late  for  him  to  brow-beat  me,  ind  so  I  said;  and 
that  I  would  worry  his  and  her  life  out,  as  surely  as  she  crossed 
this  threshold — that  he  had  made  himself  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  city — had  been  taken  in  by  a  designing  creature  who 
wanted  his  money — for  he  had  lost  his  good  looks  and  hia 
senses  too,  it  appeared — " 

"  '  If  you  say  another  word/  said  he,  griping  my  arm — there! 
you  see  the  bruise !  <  I  will  put  you  out  of  the  carriage,  and 
you  may  die  before  I  will  give  you  a  cent  to  save  you  from  star- 
vation. You  will  see  this  lady  to-night,  and  if  you  do  not  treat 
her  with  becoming  politeness,  you  don't  go  home  with  me,  nor 
after  me,  either !' 

"  You  never  saw  such  a  tiger !  When  we  were  there,  1 
scowled  at  every  dried-up  old  maid,  who  looked  as  if  she  were 
husband-hunting.  I  had  picked  out  one,  with  a  skinny  neck 
and  corkscrew  curls,  when  up  steps  our  youthful  lover,  with  a 
lady  hanging  on  his  arm ; — he,  all  honey  and  smiles — she,  cool 
and  bold.  <  Miss  Copeland — let  me  make  you  acquainted  with 
my  daughter !'  I  wanted  to  strike  her  in  the  face,  but  his  eye  was 
too  threatening ; — so  I  choked  myself  with  a  pretty  speech,  and 
she  bowed  condescendingly.  I  gave  her  one  look,  though,  when 
he  did  not  see — and  she  glared  back  at  me.  I'll  warrant  there'll 
be  no  love  lost  I" 

"But  what  is  she  like?  She  may  be  an  agreeable  com- 
panion," said  Ida. 

"  Ida  Ross!  I  didn't  come  to  you  for  canting  consolation !  I 
was  too  full  to  keep  my  fury  to  myself — and  I  hate  her  rather  more 
than  I  do  you.  This  is  why  I  have  told  you  about  the  wretch. 
'  Companion !'  I'll  be  company  for  her !  She  had  better  be 
burned  alive,  than  come  here.  She  will  wish  she  had  been,  or 
iny  name  is  not  Read  !" 

"  But  you  can  escape  by  marriage  •/'  suggested  Ida,  who  per- 
ceived that  the  girl  was  suffering,  and  pitied  her,  while  she  trem- 
bled at  her  frenzy. 

"  Say  that  again,  and  I  will  murder  you  \"  retorted  Josephine, 
in  the  white  heat  of  concentrated  passion.  "  You  will  make  me 
remember  that  our  old  scores  are  not  quite  settled  yet." 

"  I  have  no  scores  against  ycu ;"  said  Ida,  firmly.  "  The 
past  cannot  return — why  refer  to  it  ?" 


252  ALONE. 

Josephine  regarded  her  fixedly,  "  You  are  wise  I"  she  said, 
presently,  breaking  into  a  contemptuous  laugh.  «  To  another, 
you  would  preach  repentance — you  know  I  never  repent  I"  and 
with  this  strange  speech,  she  quitted  her. 

Now  that  he  had  broken  the  matter  to  his  daughter,  the  bride- 
groom used  the  utmost  celerity  in  the  despatch  of  preliminaries. 
The  house  was  filled  with  workmen,  upholsterers  and  cooks, 
whose  din  destroyed  the  quiet  of  Ida's  chamber,  the  only  one  left 
unaltered.  Josephine  adhered  to  her  resolution  not  to  move  a 
finger  in  the  preparations  for  the  detested  intruder's  reception. 
She  would  not  go  to  the  marriage,  which  took  place  at  the  bride's 
father's,  in  the  country.  Mr.  Read  did  not  insist;  he  was 
secretly  pleased  to  be  free  for  this  evening — conscious  that  he 
could  acquit  himself  more  creditably,  if  her  eyes  were  not  upon 
him.  The  wedding  party  was  to  be  at  his  house,  the  next  night 
but  one.  The  supper  was  in  the  hands  of  the  profession ;  Mr. 
Read  being  too  prudent  to  risk  the  probability  of  a  grievous 
mortification,  by  entrusting  the  most  trifling  arrangement  to  his 
filial  mar-plot. 

It  was  dark  when  the  bridal  party  arrived.  The  girls  were 
dressed,  and  in  the  drawing-room.  Ida's  picture  of  the  bride, 
drawn  from  Josephine's  representment,  was  of  an  overdressed, 
forward  country  girl,  who  had  wheedled  and  flattered  a  man  of 
treble  her  age,  into  an  offer  of  his  hand  and  fortune ;  and  she 
was  puzzled  by  the  elaborate  toilette  of  the  step-daughter.  If  her 
aim  was  to  outshine  the  creature  she  had  described,  she  had  cer- 
tainly over-estimated  the  labor  its  accomplishment  required.  She 
swept  into  the  apartment  with  a  hauteur,  that  made  her  diminu- 
tive form  appear  two  inches  taller;  her  jetty  hair,  almost  an 
incumbrance  from  its  length  and  profusion,  dressed  partly  in 
ringlets,  partly  in  braids — instead  of,  as  she  usually  wore  it  at 
parties,  and  as  her  father  liked  to  see  it — in  natural  curls  float- 
ing upon  her  shoulders.  This  style  gave  her  a  juvenile  air, 
pleasing,  heretofore — discarded  by  the  full-fledged  woman  she 
acted  to-night.  Her  robe  was  of  white  satin;  the  falling  shoul- 
ders and  proud  swell  of  the  throat  exhibited  to  fine  advantage 
by  the  low  bodice.  Ida  was  dressed  in  a  silver-grey  silk,  with  a 
berthe  of  rich  black  lace;  the  throat-latch  and  cuffs  of  black 
velvet  and  jet,  making  her  extreme  paleness  more  striking.  Her 


ALONE.  253 

figure  and  expression  of  repose  had  its  opposite  in  the  impersona- 
tion of  splendid  inquietude,  which  trod  the  rooms  impatiently, 
rustling  and  gleaming  in  the  blaze  of  the  chandeliers. 

"  They  have  come !"  said  Ida,  with  a  pitying  accent,  she  could 
not  repress,  as  Josphine  turned  deadly  pale  at  the  sound  of 
wheels.  "We  must  meet  them,"  and  she  took  her  hand.  Hers 
was  fiercely  thrown  off.  Repellant,  defiant,  she  disdained  sup- 
port. The  bride's  brother  and  bridemaids  had  accompanied 
her;  but  Ida  scarcely  remarked  their  muffled-up  figures,  as 
"Miss  Murray — "  "Miss  Arnold" — were  named.  Her  eyes 
and  thoughts  were  for  the  new  Mrs.  Bead.  Josephine's  aver- 
sion had  hood-winked  her.  Ida  subscribed  to  her  "cool  and 
bold,"  as  the  solitary  clause  of  the  description  that  had  the 
slightest  resemblance  to  the  reality ;  and  "  bold"  was  too  coarse 
an  epithet  for  the  polished  indifference  of  a  woman  of  the  world. 
She  was  not  more  than  three-and-twenty,  handsome,  even  in  her 
travelling  apparel — not  "baby-faced" — and  went  through  the 
introductions  with  a  nonchalant  grace ;  touching  Josephine's 
cheek  with  her  lips ;  extending  to  Ida,  the  tips  of  her  fingers, — 
and  bestowing  a  fashionable  nod  upon  the  group  of  servants  in 
the  hall ;  then,  escorted  by  her  husband,  led  the  way,  up-stairs. 
Josephine's  face  was  balefully  dark,  as  she  resumed  her  walk. 
It  was  a  part  of  her  retribution,  although  she  would  not  see  it, — 
that  as  she  had  slighted,  and  thrust  aside  others,  whose  rights 
were  equal  with  hers, — she  was  to  take  a  secondary  place  where 
she  had  ruled  so  long. 

The  company  were  assembled,  before  the  happy  pair  made 
their  entry.  Charley  was  with  Ida — he  was  seldom  far  off — 
"November  and  June  !"  exclaimed  he,  aside.  "Its  enough  to 
cause  a  man  to  forswear  your  sex,  to  see  such  a  being  a  voluntary 
victim  upon  the  altar  of  mammon." 

Ida  caught  his  arm;  and  seeing  that  she  was  fainting,  he 
seized  a  bottle  of  cologne-water  from  the  mantel,  and  dashed  a 
handful  into  her  face,  so  quickly  and  dexterously,  that  his  nearest 
neighbors  did  not  understand  the  movement.  The  powerful  per- 
fume recalled  her  scattering  senses.  Charley  put  her  in  the 
corner  of  a  sofa ;  and  placed  himself  in  front  of  her,  to  screen 
her  from  observation,  until  her  agitation  should  subside.  It  was 
quickly  over;  and  only  remarking — "You  cannot  get  through 
22 


254  ALONE. 

the  crowd  just  yet — sit  still  I"  he  continued  fanning  her,  \nd 
chatting,  as  if  her  illness  were  the  most  natural  thing  imagina- 
ble,— a  matter  of  no  moment.  His  eyes  were  as  busy  as  his 
tongue;  and  in  their  apparently  aimless  rovings,  no  group 
escaped  scrutiny.  He  was  fairly  at  fault ;  and  opposed  as  the 
conclusion  was  to  the  premises  he  had  assumed,  was  compelled 
to  refer  her  attack  to  physical  causes.  Once,  he  fancied  he  saw 
an  imploring  agony  in  her  eye,  which  entreated  for  help  or  com- 
fort ;  but  while  he  looked,  it  disappeared,  leaving  a  serenity  that 
rebuked  his  suspicions. 

"  Who  is  this  Mr.  Read  is  convoying  this  way  ?"  he  inquired. 
"  I  ought  to  know  him." 

"He  is  a  stranger  to  me,"  replied  Ida. 

"  Miss  Ross,  Mr.  Copeland  fears  you  will  not  recognise  him, 
without  a  second  introduction,"  said  the  host. 

"  And  Mr.  Copeland's  fears  were  not  groundless,"  said  that 
gentleman,  when  his  brother-in-law  was  out  of  hearing.  "  A 
less  modest  individual  than  myself  might  be  dubious  of  the 
durability  of  an  impression,  made  under  such  circumstances,  as 
our  briefest  of  brief  interviews, — when  I  could  have  been,  at 
best,  but  a  fourth-rate  attraction.  Mr.  Dana — I  believe  !  I  need 
not  excuse  myself  for  not  observing  you  before.  This  is  a  bril- 
liant assembly,  Miss  Ross.  I  have  been  rating  my  excellent 
brother-in-law" — there  was  the  least  curl  of  scorn  upon  his 
handsome  mouth  as  he  pronounced  these  words — "  for  deserting 
this  galaxy  of  beauty  to  seek  a  mate  in  our  gloomier  regions." 

"Isolated  stars  often  dispense  more  light  than  the  millions 
composing  the  galaxy,"  answered  Ida. 

"  I  have  thought  the  same  since  I  reached  this  corner,"  he 
returned,  gallantly.  "  I  parted  with  a  friend  of  yours,  yester- 
day, who  would  not  have  granted  me  time  to  say  a  word  for 
myself,  if  I  had  engaged  to  deliver  a  quarter  of  the  messages 
he  charged  me  with." 

"  Ah !  who  was  so  unreasonable  ?" 

"  Mr.  Germaine,"  he  replied,  smiling,  as  the  blood  rose  to  her 
cheek.  "  He  enacted  Telemachus  last  summer,  with  a  difference 
in  the  object  of  his  search." 

"  But  with  a  like  termination,"  said  Charley,  who  seemed  to 
understand  the  allusion. 


ALONE.  25o 

"  Yes — as  it  proved;  but  he  did  not  know  it  at  that  time.  He 
called  by  to  see  me  on  his  way  home.  He  was  in  a  deplorable 
state  of  mind ;  but  I  am  happy  to  say  that  the  consolations  of 
friendship  were  not  unavailing.  I  have  succeeded  in  inocula 
ting  him  with  hopes  of  more  fortunate  chances  in  future.  Yes- 
terday, he  was  ready  to  swear  with  Barnadine,  that  he  <  would 
not  die  that  day  for  any  man's  persuasion.'  " 

"Had  he  been  long  absent  from  his  own  neighborhood?" 
asked  Ida.  "Did  he  speak  of  Dr.  Carleton's  family?" 

"Frequently.  They  are  in  their  usual  health,  I  believe, 
although  he  was  not  explicit  upon  this  point;  all  ideas  con- 
nected with  Poplar-grove  having  a  marked  proclivity  backward. 
<  Last  summer'  was  the  starting-point  and  terminus  of  his  dis- 
course to  me.  I  am  going  to  say  something  rude,  Miss  Ross. 
Ls  the  lady  by  the  pier-table  your  cousin-german  ?" 

"  What  if  she  were  my  sister  ?" 

"  I  should  say,  with  all  frankness,  that  I  could  not  detect  the 
family  likeness.  As  she  is  not  related  by  consanguinity  or 
affinity,  we  will  hope,  benevolently,  that  her  attendant  is  not 
constituted  like  my  sister,  who  faints  at  passing  a  freshly- 
painted  house ;  and  furthermore  award  her  praise  for  her  libe- 
rality. You  have  heard  of  the  clay  that  lived  with  roses — do 
you  think  that  gentleman  would  appreciate  the  apologue  ?" 

Ida  and  Charley  laughed,  although  the  remark  might  have 
been  considered  ill-natured.  The  pure  red  and  white  of  the 
lady's  face  remained  intact,  but  the  gentleman's  coat-sleeve  had 
received  a  bountiful  donation  of  flour  or  chalk  from  the  snowy 
arm  resting  upon  it. 

"  Is  not  that  your  friend,  Miss  Read  ?"  pursued  Mr.  Copeland. 
"A  pretty  casket,  but  how  frail  to  enshrine  the  spirit  that 
speaks  in  those  orbs !  There  is  stirring  music  there,  or  I  am 
mistaken.  Hear  me,  Miss  Ross,  before  you  annihilate  me  by  a 
second  look  of  reproof.  We  simple  yeomen  do  not  get  away 
from  our  farms  often ;  and  not  above  once  in  a  lifetime  happen 
upon  such  a  godsend  as  this  is,  for  adding  to  our  slender  stock 
of  information.  I  am  a  boy  of  an  inquiring  mind,  and  my  venera- 
ble and  respected  father's  parting  injunction  was  to  keep  my  eyes 
and  ears  open.  You  believe  every  word  I  am  saying — I  see  it 
in  your  countenance.  You  do  not  fear  to  accept  my  arm  for  a 
promenade  ?  Mr.  Dana — au  revoir." 


256  ALONE. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  chosen  an  indifferent  cicerone/'  said 
Ida. 

"  How  unjust !  I  repel  the  insinuation,  and  to  prove  my  inno- 
cence, will  not  ask  a  question  concerning  any  one  but  yourself." 

"  I  will  answer  those  upon  any  other  subject  more  readily." 

"  I  had  not  expected  to  find  you  one  who  would  shirk  inquiry 
into  her  character  and  actions.  Luckily  I  am  not  deputed  to 
institute  it.  You  do  not  flirt,  I  understand,  Miss  Ross  ?" 

«  Never      Why  the  question  ?" 

"  It  is  the  principal  amusement  here,  I  observe ;  and  that 
reminded  me  of  my  curiosity  to  behold  you,  when  I  heard  that 
you  were,  in  this  respect,  an  anomaly  in  your  sex." 

"  Is  your  judgment  so  unsparing?"  said  Ida.  "I  know  many, 
whose  sentiments  and  practices  coincide  with  mine ;  but  before 
we  dispute,  let  us  have  a  clear  sense  of  each  other's  meaning. 
What  is  your  definition  of  flirting  ?" 

"  With  men,  it  signifies  paying  attentions  that  warrant  the 
expectation  of  courtship  : — a  formal  declaration,  or  expressions 
which  are  tantamount  to  it,  when  we  have  no  inclination  or 
intention  to  fulfil  an  engagement  of  marriage.  The  man  who 
does  this,  incurs  the  opprobrium  of  the  community,  unless  the 
lady  is  as  great  an  adept  in  the  art  as  himself.  Then,  it  is  a 
harmless  sham  fight ;  no  mischief  done,  and  nobody  to  blame. 
On  the  other  side,  the  hapless  wight,  who  is  worsted  by  a 
coquette,  has  to  bear  ridicule,  in  addition  to  his  bruises.  She 
may  beckon  her  victim  on  by  smiles  and  blushes  and  half-uttered 
fondness,  actually  give  him  the  pledges,  and  admit  him  to  the 
privileges  of  an  accepted  lover;  and  then  laugh  in  the  face  of 
the  fond  fool,  whose  peace  she  has  wilfully  destroyed ; — and  this 
sensible,  charitable  world  claps  its  hands,  and  shouts  <  bravo  ! 
for  a  clever  woman  !'  " 

"  No  woman  will  acknowledge  the  truthfulness  of  this  sketch," 
rejoined  Ida.  "  I  have  seen  unthinking  girls  act  thus ;  but  we 
are  cognizant  of  the  crime — not  its  punishment,  which  is  inevita- 
ble and  severe." 

"  They  settle  down  generally,  like  their  neighbors,  to  a  home 
and  a  husband,"  said  Mr.  Copeland. 

"  This  is  their  outward  lot ;  who  knows  their  inner  life  ?" 

"  The  inner  life  of  a  woman  !  who,  indeed  !  what  a  tissue  of 


ALONE.  257 

contradictions  it  must  be !  Follow  my  eye,  Miss  Ross.  Do  you 
see  that  Peri  with  cerulean  eyes,  who  is  bowing  to  that  gentle- 
man's petition  for  'the  pleasure  of  her  hand?'"  Again,  that 
blanching  cheek,  as  she  murmured  '  yes.' 

"  It  is  Lelia  Arnold — my  sister's  bridesmaid.  She  is  the  love- 
liest and  gayest  girl  in  the  room ;  you  would  say  that  she  could 
not  exist,  but  in  this  hot-house  of  flattery  and  pleasure.  Last 
spring  she  went  on  a  visit  to  a  sick  friend,  and  for  four  months 
we  lost  sight  of  her.  She  resides  about  six  miles  from  us ;  and 
we  were  notified  of  her  return  by  her  driving  over,  one  day, 
attended  by  a  handsome  fellow,  brother  to  the  'dear  Annie ' 
with  whom  she  had  been  staying.  The  truth  was  out !  The 
parade  the  family  made  of  her  disinterestedness  and  attachment 
to  the  invalid  deceived  my  sister,  but  not  me.  She  aims  at  uni- 
versal fascination;  this  Lacy  has  prepossessing  manners  and 
appearance,  talent, — and  it  may  be,  money.  Her  four  months' 
nursing  was  a  judicious  outlay.  Helen — Mrs.  Read,  declares 
there  is  no  engagement;  but  I  retain  my  opinion.  She  is, 
to-night,  la  reine  du  bal;  on  Sunday,  she  will  kneel,  in  Church, 
the  most  angelic  vision  that  ever  was  vouchsafed  to  a  Catholic's 
prayers  ;  relate  a  tale  of  woe,  and  the  eyes  now  dancing  in  mirth, 
will  be  dewy  with  tears ;  if  you  are  worth  winning,  she  is  the 
tender,  love-beseeching  girl.  I  am  the  only  one  who  quarrels 
with  her.  The  first  time,  I  was  ready  to  blow  my  brains  out,  for 
my  brutality.  I  think  now  I  shall  wait  for  a  more  convenient 
season.  She  is 

'A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  to  command,' 

— minus  a  heart !" 

"  Are  you  well  advised  of  this  ?"     Her  voice  was  very  low. 

"  I  wish  I  were  as  surt  of  a  diudem  !  and  if  I  had  it,  I  will 
not  be  my  own  security,  that  she  could  not  coax  it  from  me,  in 
five  minutes  after  it  came  into  my  possession.  Do  not  imagine 
this  a  digression  from  the  subject.  I  could  tell  you  of  an  exile 
from  his  native  land,  driven  thence  by  her  falsehood ;  of  one, 
with  high  intellect  and  gigantic  energies,  paralyzed  by  his  fall 
from  the  dizzy  height,  to  which  her  promises  had  raised  him; — 
and  the  snow,  this  winter  night,  enwraps  another  pierced  heart, 
as  cold  as  that  which  moves  her  fleecy  drapery.  What  do  you 
22* 


258  ALONE. 

say  now,  Miss  Ross  ?  Does  the  world  heap  no  honors,  lavish  no 
applause  upon,  her  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  believe  you  I"  said  Ida,  putting  her 
hand  confusedly  to  her  forehead. 

"  It  is  no  private  scandal; — I  do  not  retail  such, — the  facts 
are  notorious.  Yet  ask  Helen — ask  any  woman  who  ( knows 
society/  and  she  will  certify  to  the  frequency  of  these  occur- 
rences— 'crimes'  you  called  them — and  the  impunity  with 
which  they  are  committed." 

"  It  is  a  crime !"  said  Ida,  wildly; — «  an  atrocious  crime  !" 

"  My  dear  Miss  Eoss !  one  would  think  you  were  reprobating 
a  highway  murderer !  Recover  yourself — the  perpetrators  are 
your  acquaintances  and  friends.  Another  set,  Helen !  does  Mr. 
Read  take  the  floor,  too  ?"  he  said  to  his  sister,  with  the  mock- 
ing smile  Ida  had  noticed  once  before. 

"  I  do  not  know ;"  she  replied,  carelessly.  "  He  can  take 
care  of  himself — " 

"  Having  nearly  arrived  at  years  of  discretion ;"  he  concluded 
the  sentence. 

Ida  did  not  like  the  unnecessary  taunt,  nor  the  smile  with 
which  he  turned  to  her. 

"  Your  naive  abhorrence  of  flirtation,  emboldens  me  to  ask 
another  question.  Has  disinterested  affection  an  abode  upon 
earth  ?" 

"  Are  you  infidel  there  also  ?"  said  Ida,  lightly. 

"You  evade.  I  ask  no  reply  but  that.  You  are  a  believer; 
and  while  I  was  telling  my  story,  your  mind  was  running 
through  the  details  of  conduct,  diametrically  opposed  to  our  fair 
friend's  yonder." 

It  was  a  random  shot ;  but  that  it  told,  he  was  assured  by 
the  nervous  tremor  of  her  arm;  and  kindly  violating  hjs  promise 
not  to  be  inquisitive  about  his  fellow-guests,  returned  to  his  jest- 
ing strain. 

It  was  well  that  he  did.  She  was  fearfully  tried.  At  Miss 
Arnold's  entrance,  she  had  known  the  original  of  "Lelia's" 
miniature;  but  cowering  at  the  unexpected  ordeal  she  must 
undergo,  while  she  was  beneath  the  same  roof  with  herself,  took 
refuge  in  the  hope  that  she  was  deceived  by  an  accidental  resem- 
blance. Mr.  Copeland  had  torn  down  this  frail  shelter,  and 


ALONE.  259 

added  a  new  sorrow  to  the  burden  that  was  crushing  her.  Why 
was  she  made  to  hear  this  recital  ?  Was  there  a  "  special  Pro- 
vidence" in  his  being  Mr.  Germaine's  friend,  and  singling  her 
out  among  a  hundred  strangers?  What  directed  his  mind  into 
the  channel  it  took  ?  what  pointed  his  finger  to  Lelia  Arnold, 
and  thereby  probed  her  heart  to  its  core  ?  She  had  taught  her- 
self to  think  of,  and  pray  for  his  wife — the  good  and  beautiful/' 
but  not  for  this  heartless  coquette — "  not  for  her !  oh !  my 
Father  !  I  could  have  borne  anything  but  this  I"  she  cried,  in 
bitterness  of  spirit.  It  was  an  experience  which  smites  many 
with  sore  amazement — that  it  is  easier  to  learn  resignation  for 
ouselves,  than  for  those  we  love.  She  had  begun  her  uninviting 
journey  meekly ;  but  rebelled  that  a  cloud  lowered  over  him. 

Night,  morning  passed — the  afternoon  was  upon  the  wane, 
ere  she  gained  fortitude  of  body  and  spirit,  for  a  re-encounter 
with  the  formidable  stranger.  A  prop  to  her  resolution  was 
applied  by  Rachel,  who  "  thought  them  young  ladies  must  be 
having  a  mighty  dull  time.  Mrs.  Read  nor  Miss  Josephine 
didn't  leave  their  rooms  from  breakfast  to  dinner;  and  looks 
like  they  meaned  to  stay  thar,  till  plump  night;  and  Miss 
Murray  and  Miss  Arnold  are  wandering  about,  like  lost  sheep. 
I  wish  you  was  well  enough  to  sit  with  them  awhile,  Miss  Ida." 

Matters  were  much  as  she  had  represented.  Miss  Arnold 
was  watching  the  passers-by,  with  an  enmtyte  air,  and  Miss 
Murray  lounging  in  an  easy  chair,  with  a  book.  The  latter 
arose  with  a  cordial  air. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  able  to  be  with  us  again.  You  seem 
feeble,  and  we  were  uneasy  lest  fatigue  might  have  made  you 
sick." 

Miss  Arnold  bowed  distantly,  and  held  herself  aloof,  during 
the  dialogue  that  ensued.  Ida  gathered  courage  as  she  wit- 
nessed her  uninterested  attitude,  which  could  hardly  have  been 
feigned.  She  had  not  recognised  her ;  or  as  she  reflected,  in 
her  humility,  was  more  probable,  had  never  heard  of  her.  The 
thought  was  unflattering,  but  there  was  relief  in  it.  Miss 
Murray  was  affable  and  unaffected ;  her  features  only  redeemed 
from  plainness  by  their  agreeable  expression.  They  talked  of 
the  distinctive  traits  of  town  and  country  life.  She  "  had  never 
resided  in  the  city,"  Miss  Murray  said,  «  but  had  attended  Mr. 


260  ALONE. 

Purcell's  school  one  session."  Ida  inquired  "  when  ?"  and 
heard  that  they  were  there  together,  but  in  different  classes. 

"  I  do  not  remember  seeing  you,"  said  she. 

"But  7  kne\y  your  face,  yesterday  afternoon;"  was  Miss 
Murray's  reply. 

"  Carry  Carleton  was  your  desk-mate,  and  Anna  Talbot  sat 
before  you." 

They  were  at  no  loss  for  topics  now ;  and  "  Alice"  and  « Ida" 
superseded  the  formal  "  Miss." 

" I  read  of  Carry's  marriage  in  the  papers,  but  the  name  of 
her  caro  sposo  has  slipped  my  memory  ;"  said  Miss  Murray. 

"Dr.  Dana, — he  is  an  excellent  young  man;  handsome, 
amiable,  and  has  a  high  reputation  as  an  intelligent  man,  and 
skilful  physician." 

"Dana !  was  there  a  gentleman  of  that  name  here  last  night?" 
asked  Alice. 

"  Yes — his  brother." 

"He  was  introduced  to  me;" — and  she  laughed.  "He  is 
an  original.  I  was  highly  entertained  by  his  humorous  say- 
ings." 

She  was  interested  in  Ida's  graphic  limning  of  his  character. 

"  He  is  an  intimate  friend  of  yours,  then  ?" 

"  One  of  the  best  I  have ; — the  kindest  of  brothers." 

"I  knew  he  was  as  good  as  funny,  from  his  face.  You  saw 
him,  Lelia?" 

"  "Whom  ?"  asked  she,  without  moving. 

"  Mr.  Dana,  the  humorous  gentleman,  I  talked  to  so  long,  by 
the  piano." 

"  I  saw  him,  but  heard  no  humor.  I  thought  him  very 
stupid." 

Miss  Murray  reddened.  "  Why,  Lelia !  but  you  are  not  a 
fair  judge.  If  he  had  talked  to  you,  you  would  not  say  so." 

t(  He  ( bored'  me  for  what  seemed  an  eternity,  but  which,  Mr. 
Copeland,  who  released  me,  said  was  only  ten  minutes,"  said 
she,  carelessly. 

Miss  Murray  was  content  she  should  be  silent,  after  this  mal- 
apropos observation.  Ida  said  "one  must  be  well  acquainted 
with  him  to  appreciate  him."  Miss  Arnold  measured  her  from 
head  to  foot,  and  saying  coldly,  "  I  rarely  err  in  a  first  opinion;" 
turned  her  blue  eyes  to  the  window  again. 


ALONE. 

The  others  were  forgetting  her  in  the  deepening  stream  of 
chat,  when  she  came  to  the  fire-place.  "I  am  chilly!"  she 
said,  and  throwing  one  of  the  sofa-pillows  at  Alice's  feet,  seated 
herself,  and  leaned  her  elbow  upon  her  friend's  lap.  She  was 
bewitchingly  lovely — Ida  owned;  and  so  may  have  thought 
Richard  Copeland,  who  happened  to  enter,  just  as  she  was 
settled. 

"  Rehearsing  tableaux,  young  ladies !"  said  he.  "  Miss  Ross 
— Miss  Alice — good  evening.  You  play  humility,  I  perceive, 
Miss  Lelia." 

She  did  not  offer  to  rise.  "  Do  not  I  become  the  character  ?" 
she  inquired. 

" The  character  becomes  you,  at  any  rate.  How  have  you 
wiled  away  the  day,  Miss  Alice  ?" 

Her  sunshiny  face  made  him  as  frank  as  herself,  when  he 
addressed  her. 

"Oh!"  said  she.  "In  sleeping,  reading  and  eating,  I  con- 
trived to  dispose  of  all  but  the  past  hour  or  two,  of  which  Miss 
Ross  has  kindly  relieved  me." 

"  I  can  testify  to  her  adroitness  in  this  particular,"  he  replied. 
She  did  a  little  time-lifting  for  me  last  evening.  Have  you 
finished  your  official  returns  of  <  killed,  wounded  and  missing,' 
Miss  Ross  ?" 

"  I  suspect  my  bulletins  would  comprise  most  of  the  latter," 
said  Ida. 

«  And  mine  !"  echoed  Alice. 

"There  is  one  exception,  at  least,"  he  returned,  bowing. 
"  Decide  between  yourselves  to  whom  the  captive  belongs." 

"May  I  be  umpire?"  asked  Miss  Arnold,  her  cheeks  dimpling 
mischievously. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,  Miss  Lelia,  I  read  in  an  old  spelling- 
book,  of  two  cats,  who  came  to  the  scratch  over  a  piece  of  cheese, 
and  agreed  to  refer  its  division  to  the  monkey's  arbitration.  You 
have  read  it  too,  and  recollect  the  catastrophe." 

He  appeared  to  take  pleasure  in  being  as  rude  to  her  as  the 
letter  of  politeness  allowed ;  and  she  bore  it  patiently,  without 
relaxing  her  efforts  to  please  and  attract. 

«  Where  are  Helen  and  Miss  Read  ?"  he  asked  of  Alice.  "Do 
all  the  duties  of  hospitality  devolve  upon  Miss  Ross  ?" 


262  ALONE. 

"  They  are  resting,  I  suppose,  to  be  blooming  at  the  party 
to-night,"  replied  she. 

"  Your  roses,  then,  are  not  so  precious.     Is  this  so  ?" 

"  Say  instead,  that  they  are  perpetual,"  said  Ida. 

Alice  blushed  and  laughed. 

"Are  we  to  be  favored  with  your  company,  Miss  Ross?" 
inquired  Mr.  Copeland. 

"  No,  I  do  not  keep  late  hours  until  my  health  is  confirmed." 

"What  a  pity!"  exclaimed  Alice.  "Do go!  I  shall  feel  so 
strange,  so  lonely !" 

"  Mr.  Copeland  will  prevent  that ;  and  I  make  over  to  you 
my  interest  in  my  friend,  Mr.  Dana,  for  one  evening." 

"Are  you  in  the  market  for  the  first  bidder?"  said  Miss 
Arnold,  with  pretty  archness,  to  the  former  gentleman. 

« If  Miss  Koss  pleases.  I  intended  to  ask  permission  to 
remain  in  my  present  quarters  until  the  hour  at  which  we  ultra- 
fashionables  go  to  routs ;  but  if  she  banishes  me  sooner,  I  am 
proud  to  do  her  bidding,  hard  as  it  is." 

The  lamps  were  lighted ;  and  Mrs.  Read  conferred  the  further 
illumination  of  her  presence. 

"  Where's  your  liege-lord,  my  lady  ?"  asked  her  brother;  and 
she  replied,  as  she  did,  whenever  she  could,  to  inquiries  con- 
cerning him — "Indeed,  I  do  not  know,"  and  sank  indolently 
upon  a  divan.  The  large,  slumberous  eyes  did  not  brighten  at 
his  step  in  the  hall ;  and  when  she  drew  her  dress  aside  to  make 
room  for  him,  it  was  with  more  thought  for  the  costly  fabric, 
than  desire  to  have  him  near.  Josephine  came  in,  as  the  bell 
sounded  for  supper.  It  was  a  cheerful  meal,  in  spite  of  her 
haughty  silence,  and  Ida's  inward  conflicts.  Alice  Murray's 
even  spirits  had  an  equalising  effect  upon  the  varied  tempera- 
ments around  her ;  Miss  Arnold  was  witty  and  charming.  Ida 
could  not  deny  her  eyes  the  luxury  of  watching  her  animated 
countenance.  They  feasted  upon  its  beauty,  until  every  thought 
was  merged  in  admiration;  and  this,  while,  Mr.  Copeland's 
sallies  were  exclusively  for  herself.  Mrs.  Read  aroused  from 
her  proud  languor,  and  manifested  a  keen  relish  for  the  ridi- 
culous, and  satirical  powers,  not  inferior  to  her  brother's.  There 
was  a  veiled  acrimony  in  their  manner  to  each  other,  which 
impressed  Ida  with  the  belief  of  some  unsettled  feud,  never  lost 


ALONE.  263 

sight  of  by  either;  and  which  she  could  not  reconcile  with 
Alice's  assertion,  that  he  was  Mrs.  Read's  best-beloved  brother. 
Their  personal  resemblance  was  marked ;  but  gay  and  caustic 
as  he  was,  there  were  scintillations  of  feeling  in  his  dark  eyes, 
which  had  burnt  out,  or  were  smothered  in  hers.  "  And  how 
else  could  it  be  ?"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  looked  at  her  dig- 
nified guardian,  transformed  for  the  nonce,  into  the  uxorious 
husband ;  and  marvelled,  for  the  thousandth  time — "  What 
made  her  marry  him  ?" 

They  were  incredulous  when  Mr.  Read  said  it  was  time  to 
dress  for  Mrs.  Talbot's. 

"  You  go  with  us,  Richard  ?"  said  his  sister. 

"  I  will  meet  you  there;  I  must  go  to  my  hotel  awhile  first." 

There  could  be  no  reason  for  this,  yet  Ida  thought  Miss 
Arnold's  brow  clouded. 

"  Your  hair  was  prettily  arranged  last  night,  Ida,"  said  Alice. 
"  Will  you  give  me  a  few  hints  as  to  my  coiffure  ?" 

11  With  pleasure.  I  was  about  to  ask  if  I  could  assist  you  in 
any  way  ?" 

So,  instead  of  going  off  to  her  "  sanctum,"  she  busied  herself 
in  the  dressing-room.  Alice  laughed  and  talked  incessantly; 
Miss  Arnold  was  grave  and  mute,  except  when  her  maid  paused 
for  directions.  She  objected,  in  the  mildest  of  tones,  that  there 
was  not  light  enough  upon  her  table,  and  thanked  "  dear,  obliging 
Alice,"  who  sent  a  candle  from  hers,  without  fearing  she  could 
not  spare  it. 

"  I  never  looked  so  well  in  all  my  life  I"  said  Alice,  clasping 
her  hands  in  pretended  rapture.  "  I  am  all  impatience  to  try 
the  effect  of  my  beauty.  You  have  won  me  one  admirer,  Ida 
—myself." 

"Add  me  to  the  number,"  said  Miss  Arnold,  and  gliding  up, 
she  kissed  the  rosy  cheek. 

"  0  Lelia !  my  darling !"  screamed  Alice.  "  My  darling ! 
you  are  an  angel !  Ida  !  is  she  not  lovely  ?" 

"  Very !"  said  Ida,  and  she  felt  it.  Alice  said  an  affectionate 
— the  rest  a  polite  farewell; — they  drove  off; — and  she  went 
very  quietly  to  her  chamber — quietly — though  her  hand  was 
pressed  hard  upon  her  heart;  and  her  throat  ached,  as  if  iron 
fingers  were  tightened  around  it ; — and  while  they  were  dancing, 


264  A  L  0  N  E  . 

she  was  kneeling  before  that  precious  Bible,  forgetting  sorrow 
and  self  in  its  sublime  teachings ; — hours  before  their  return, 
she  slept,  peacefully,  happily — such  sleep  as  even  in  this  life 
"  He  giveth  His  beloved." 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

SUNDAY  was  rainy,  and  Ida  was  deprived  of  the  opportunity 
of  judging  whether  Miss  Arnold's  church  behaviour  was  as  Mr. 
Copeland  had  portrayed  it.  But  she  was  to  learn  how  just  to 
life  another  part  of  his  description  was. 

The  morning,  yawned  through  in  the  other  apartments,  passed 
swiftly  in  hers,  in  reading,  study,  and  blessed  communion  with 
her  Heavenly  Friend. 

A  low  tap  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  her  "come  in,"  an- 
swered by  Miss  Arnold. 

"  Pray,  keep  your  seat,"  said  she,  closing  the  door  with  a 
shiver,  as  the  cold  draught  from  the  passage  blew  over  her ;  "  I 
have  ransacked  the  parlor  book-case  in  vain  for  Sabbath  reading, 
and  Alice  said  you  could  probably  supply  me." 

"  My  little  library  is  at  your  service,"  said  Ida,  parting  the 
curtains  before  a  handsome  set  of  shelves. 

"You  have  quite  an  extensive  collection;"  remarked  Miss 
Arnold,  patronisingly.  She  did  not  ask  her  to  help  her  in  the 
selection,  and  Ida  returned  to  her  chair.  Miss  Arnold  pulled  out 
one  and  another  slowly,  so  as  to  consume  as  much  time  as  pos- 
sible in  the  occupation.  Ida  glanced  up  from  time  to  time,  to 
see  what  choice  she  made.  A  modest  volume,  presented  by  Mr. 
Lacy,  stood  near  the  centre  of  the  top  shelf;  and  she  looked  up 
once  as  Miss  Arnold  was  in  the  act  of  taking  it  down.  She 
watched  her  with  suspended  breath.  She  read  the  title  and 
title-page,  and  shutting  it,  raised  her  arm  to  replace  it;  but  a 
look  of  recollection  flitted  over  her  brow,  and  she  re-opened  it— 
at  the  fly-leaf.  Ida  dropped  her  eyes  instantly  to  the  page 
before  her,  yet  she  saw  as  plainly  as  with  her  bodily  organs  of 
vision,  that  after  reading  what  was  writ:en  tbsre, — "Miss  Ida 


ALONE.  -65 

Boss,  with  the  regards  of  M.  L.,"  a  gaze  of  keen  inquisition  rested 
upon  herself,  that  the  inscription  was  thoughtfully  examined, 
— then  the  subject  matter  of  the  book,  which  was  afterwards 
restored  to  its  place,  and  with  another,  selected  at  hazard,  her 
visitor  moved  gracefully  towards  her.  "  You  have  been  so  kind 
to  me — to  us — during  our  stay  here,  that  I  am  encouraged  to 
beg  an  additional  favor." 

Her  silvery  voice  had  a  new  tone,  and  it  was  as  if  a  malicious 
spirit  repeated  to  Ida, — "If  you  are  worth  winning,  she  is 
the  tender,  love-beseeching  girl."  Hitherto,  her  conduct  had 
afforded  decisive  evidence  that  she  was  not  worth  the  trouble. 
She  drove  the  whisperer  away  and  answered  politely, 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  oblige  you." 

"  Then  may  I  stay  with  you  awhile  ?  This  is  such  a  dear, 
home-like  nook,  and  it  is  so  dreary  out  of  doors,  and  not  much 
better  down  stairs,  for  Alice  is  drowsy,  and  Helen  invisible." 

Ida  would  have  acceded  to  almost  any  other  proposition  more 
readily,  but  she  submitted  with  forced  complaisance. 

"  Go  on  with  your  reading.  I  shall  retire  if  I  interrupt  you ;" 
continued  Miss  Arnold. 

"  I  have  been  reading  all  the  morning  ;"  said  Ida,  seeing  that 
the  other's  book  was  untouched. 

"  And  won't  my  talking  annoy  you  ?"  cried  Miss  Arnold  with 
childish  pleasure.  "  I  have  so  longed  to  know  you  better — to 
get  nearer  to  you !  Bear  with  me  while  I  say  it ;  you  are  so — 
not  exactly  stern  to  me — but  so  distant !  That  it  was  not  your 
nature,  I  discovered  from  your  demeanor  to  Alice.  I  could  not 
but  love  you  for  your  goodness  to  her;  and — child  that  I  am — I 
would  have  entreated  you  to  care  for  me  a  little  in  return — but 
you  froze  the  words  upon  my  lips.  I  have  cried  over  it  after  I 
went  to  bed  at  night.  Will  you  not  tell  me  truly  why  you  dis- 
like me?" 

The  violet  eyes  were  sparkling  through  tears. 

"I  was  not  aware  that  I  was  so  frightful,"  replied  Ida, 
smiling.  "  My  coldness  was  imaginary,  or  unintentional  on  my 
part,  Miss  Arnold." 

"There  1"  said  the  beauty  reproachfully;  "it  was  <  Alice' 
before  you  had  known  her  a  day." 

"  Because  wo  were  old  schoolmates." 
92 


266  ALONE. 

"Strangers,  nevertheless.  Come,  Ida — be  my  friend — will 
you  not?" 

Could  a  false  flirt  copy  Carry's  look  and  tone  so  faithfully  ? 
and  she  kneeled  upon  the  rug,  as  she  had  done  on  that  November 
night,  when  she  said,  "Love  me,  Ida!"  She  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  lay  her  lips  against  the  snowy  forehead, 
beneath  which  those  matchless  eyes  beamed  with  love  and  grati- 
tude. She  would  have  recoiled  as  that  satiric  whisper  again  ' 
hissed  through  her  heart;  but  the  soft  arms  were  around  her — 
the  beautiful  head  upon  her  shoulder. 

"I  am  not  the  butterfly  I  seem,  Ida;  nor  is  the  ephemera 
gaiety,  in  which  you  see  me  floating,  my  proper  sphere.  I  have 
not  your  unwavering  principle — your  independence;  I  cannot 
of  myself  say  to  the  world, — <I  hate  your  vain  pageantry,  and 
pine  for  a  nobler  life !'  Often,  often  I  feel  when  the  din  of 
pleasure  is  loudest,  that  I  am  bound  to  a  wheel  whose  revolu- 
tions I  cannot  control.  Show  me  how  to  be  happy." 

"There  is  but  one  happiness  which  cannot  die,"  said  Ida, 
with  an  effort.  "You  do  not  require  that  I  should  point  you 
to  that !" 

Her  look  of  sorrowful  deprecation  was  touching.  "  I  know 
what  you  mean,"  she  replied,  subduedly.  "  You  would  intimate, 
that  professing  as  I  do,  to  be  trying  to  lead  a  Christian's  life,  I 
ought  to  be  as  familiar  with  the  path  as  yourself;  but  I  am  a 
child — too  much  the  toy  of  impulse  and  fancy.  I  have  been  a 
pet  from  my  infancy ;  have  leaned  upon  the  judgment — abided 
by  the  decision  of  those  I  love ;  and  you  cannot  conceive  of  the 
difliculty  I  have  in  acting  for  myself,  and  in  opposition  to  their 
wishes." 

This  was  plausible.  Ida  wished  from  her  inmost  soul,  that 
she  had  never  heard  Richard  Copeland's  story,  which,  after  all, 
might  have  been  coloured,  if  not  sketched  by  prejudice,  or 
revenge  for  some  slight  to  himself.  She  would  have  taken  this 
young  girl,  his  betrothed,  to  her  bosom,  and  soothed  her  fears, 
:iad  stimulated  her  failing  resolves.  But  the  conviction  of  her 
heartlessness  was  too  strong  upon  her;  and  her  upright  nature 
forbade  the  assumption  of  an  appearance  of  confidence  she  did 
not  feel.  She  spoke,  indeed,  as  freely  as  she  could  of  the  lovo 
pities  and  forgives  our  infirmities  a-nd  backsliding? ;  but 


ALONE.  267 

Lelia  shook  her  head  dejectedly.  She  "  had  not  reached  her 
case.  I  thank  you,  though,  and  love  you!"  She  drew  her 
cheek  down  to  her  lips.  "  Have  you  had  much  sorrow  ?" 

"  Not  more  than  falls  to  the  lot  of  many,  more  deserving  of 
exemption. — Why  ?" 

"Your  serenity  is  BO  remarkable;  you  seem  never  to  have 
suffered." 

"The  ocean  is  calm  sometimes,"  said  Ida,  unconsciously. 

"  That  is  not  your  emblem,"  rejoined  Lelia.  "  It  is  mine ; 
ruffled  by  every  breath — dark  in  storms — flashing  and  laughing 
in  sunshine — always  changing,  yet  always  the  same — and,  ah ! 
who  believes  that  there  are  treasures  under  the  waters  which  are 
worth  the  seeking?" 

"  The  ocean  is  constant  in  nothing  except  change,"  said  Ida. 

"  That  is  the  surface  I"  she  spoke  exultingly — 

"The  water  is  calm  and  still  below; 

For  the  winds  and  waves  are  absent  there, — 
And  the  sands  are  bright  as  the  stars  that  glow 
In  the  motionless  fields  of  upper  air." 

"  Those  are  fine  lines !"  said  Ida.  They  were  recited  with  a 
purity  of  tone  and  emphasis  that  lent  them  an  additional  charm. 

"  They  are  Percival's,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  love  poetry,  if  I 
have  not,  like  one  of  my  friends,  received  the  poetic  afflatus. 
Ah !  Improvisatrice !  did  you  think  me  ignorant  of  your  glorious 
gift?" 

"You  honour  my  petty  talent  by  a  higher  name  than  it 
aspires  to  earn.  Your  informant  was  given  to  exaggeration." 

"  You  do  not  ask  who  it  was !"  cried  Lelia,  peeping  into  her 
face.  "Ah!  that  blush!  you  surmise.  Now  my  demure  dar- 
ling, how  will  you  excuse  yourself  for  not  having  breathed  his 
name  in  my  hearing,  when  you  knew  how  deep  my  interest  is  in 
all  .relating  to  him  or  his  connections?" 

This  query  was  ably  turned ;  but  Ida's  habitual  self-control 
?aved  her  from  the  pitfall.  She  would  know  and  confess 
nothing. 

And  you  dare  look  in  my  eyes  and  deny  one  of  your  best 
friends  ?"  said  Lelia. 

"I  deny  no  one.  The  merest  acquaintance  may  have  imparted 
this  information." 


268  ALONE 

"It  was  not  a  casual  acquaintance.     Shall  I  name  him?" 

" If  you  choose,"  said  Ida,  with  quickened  pulsation. 

"  Then  it  was  Mr. — look  at  me  ! — Mr.  Germaine !" 

The  blood  flowed  regularly  again.  Miss  Arnold's  ruse,  if 
such  was  intended,  failed  signally;  and  Ida  shortly  had  cause  to 
congratulate  herself  upon  the  equanimity  she  had  maintained 
through  the  interview. 

Leila's  friendliness  continued  without  abatement;  and  her 
predilection  for  her  society  was  openly  manifested.  She  invited 
her  to  walk  on  Monday  afternoon,  and  was  inconsolable  for  her 
refusal  until  Richard  Copeland  offered  himself  as  a  substitute. 
Alice  rode  out  with  Mrs.  Read  and  Josephine;  and  Ida  lay 
down  at  dusk  upon  a  sofa,  within  a  recess  of  the  parlor.  She 
soon  dropped  into  a  light  slumber ;  and  thought  that  she  was 
dreaming  still,  when  she  heard  voices,  and  saw,  'twixt  sleeping 
and  waking,  two  figures,  dimly  visible  in  the  fire-light. 

"You  are  cruelly  unjust,  Richard.  Why  seize  upon  every 
pretext  to  attack  and  wound  one  who  never  had  an  unkind 
thought  of  you  ?" 

"Because  I  have  no  respect  for  you,  Lelia,"  was  the  cool 
rejoinder.  "  Your  trifling  is  disgraceful — inhuman  \" 

"I  never  trifled  with  you." 

"  For  the  best  of  reasons — you  never  had  the  chance.  You 
will  affirm  too,  that  you  did  not  design  to  coquet  with  Hilton 
or  Sheppard." 

»  Their  unhappiness  was  the  fruit  of  their  own  blind  folly." 

"< Blind  folly'  it  was  to  love  a  heartless  woman!  And  this 
Lacy — are  you  retaining  him  as  a  corps  de  reserve  f" 

"He  is  nothing  to  me — ." 

An  ejaculation  of  extreme  disgust  interrupted  her.  "Now  this 
is  too  much  !  Do  you  think  then  that  a  solitary  manosuvre  has 
been  unnoticed  by  me?  that  I  have  not  divined  even  the  motive 
of  your  altered  behaviour  to  Miss  Ross  ?  You  have  either 
guessed  or  heard  what  has  been  told  me  within  a  day  or  two — 
that  he  was  her  lover  last  winter — either  discarded,  or  engaged 
to  her  now.  Have  a  care  !  you  may  be  foiled  with  your  own 
weapons!  Adieu  t"  His  mocking  laugh  rang  through  the 
room.  Lelia  remained  where  he  left  her;  the  ruddy  glare 
lighting  up  features  contorted  by  anger  or  grief.  '  Can  it  be  ?" 


ALONE.  269 

ehc  said — "  But,  no  !"  she  smiled,  contemptuously.  "A  made- 
up  tale  to  work  upon  my  jealousy !  That  matters  not  at 
present — but  this — yet  I  am  not  discouraged — he  is  the  only 
one !"  and  muttering  over — "  He  is  the  only  one !"  she  lifted 
her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  carried  them  from  the  apartment. 
Astonishment  had  chained  Ida's  limbs  and  tongue  after  she 
realised  that  she  was  awake.  She  grew  weak  and  sick  at  the 
accomplished  duplicity  of  one  so  youthful,  so  faultless  in 
seeming; — the  windings  of  her  arms  about  her  neck — her 
kisses  were  like  the  coil  and  sting  of  a  serpent.  She  detected 
the  artfulness  of  her  pretended  confidence ;  her  lures  to  inveigle 
her  into  some  embarrassment  or  admission  which  would  betray 
her  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Lacy.  She  had  suspected  her  then ; 
the  change  of  manner  followed  too  soon  upon  the  recognition  of 
the  handwriting.  She  rejoiced  that  the  house  was  to  be  freed 
of  her  on  the  morrow.  If  he  could  be  warned  !  but  this  was  a 
prohibited  subject  to  thought  as  to  words,  and  she  was  learning 
how  to  govern  both.  There  was  a  soiree  that  evening,  and  Ida 
had  never  been  more  happy  to  see  company.  Alice  and  Lelia 
came  together  to  her  room  to  say  farewell,  for  they  were  both  to 
start  early  in  the  morning.  She  tried  to  treat  them  alike,  but 
her  regrets  at  losing  them  were  addressed  to  Alice ;  and  if  they 
were  heartfelt,  the  sigh  of  relief,  with  which  she  turned  the  bolt 
after  them,  was  equally  sincere. 

The  bridal  festivities  were  not  over  until  after  Christmas,  but 
Ida  avoided  further  participation  in  them  by  spending  holiday 
week  at  Mr.  Dana's.  She  was  invited  expressly  to  meet  Carry 
and  Arthur,  and,  although  the  precedence  belonged  to  them,  as 
more  unfrequent  visitors,  she  was  installed  in  the  seat  of  honour 
as  chief  guest.  Carry  inveighed  against  Mr.  Read's  marriage, 
and  was  anxious  to  learn  whether  it  would  render  her  position 
more  unpleasant.  Ida  thought  not : — her  heart  said  this  could 
hardly  be,  but  she  spoke  hopefully  of  the  wholesome  check  Mrs. 
Read's  elegant  propriety  would  be  upon  Josephine's  brusqueness. 
"  They  will  not  agree  at  first,  for  Mrs.  Read,  if  she  does  appear 
too  fond  of  her  ease  to  contend,  is  not  deficient  in  resolution ; 
yet  the  end  may  be  mutual  endurance  and  forbearance.  In  any 
event  I  shall  remain  neutral.  Who  knows,  Carry,  but,  un- 
promising as  the  field  is,  I  may  do  as  well  as  suffer,  even  there?" 
23* 


270  ALONE. 

They  were  alone  in  Carry's  room.  "There  is  one  subject, 
upon  which  I  wish  to  speak  to  you;"  said  the  latter,  seriously. 
"  Has  Arthur  said  anything  to  you  of  himself?" 

"  No — not  particularly." 

« He  vas  always  too  good  for  me,"  pursued  Carry.  "  You 
need  not  hold  up  your  finger  so  threateningly — but  for  a  year 
past,  I  felt  that  he  was  growing  better,  while  I  made  no  progress. 
After  we  were  married,  I  discovered  that  he  was  in  the  habit  ot 
the  daily  study  of  his  Bible,  and  secret  prayer.  I  did  not  hint 
that  I  knew  it,  for  it  was  too  sacred  a  matter  for  mo  to  touch. 
Ida  !  I  suffered !  he  had  a  care  which  I  could  not  share — was  ill 
at  ease,  and  I  must  not  cheer  him.  When  you  wrote,  recounting 
the  alteration  of  your  views  and  prospects,  he  unsealed  his  heart 
to  me.  He  had  long  sought  peace,  without  finding  it;  but 
latterly,  had  experienced  a  glimmering  hope  he  feared  to  divulge, 
so  faint  was  it — that  he  was  a  child  of  Grod.  I  wept  for  joy  and 
grief — joy,  for  I  was  sure,  although  he  was  not,  that  he  was  a 
Christian; — and  grief  at  my  own  hardness  of  heart.  His  light^ 
has  burned  brighter  and  brighter  every  day ;  and  he  is  prepared 
now  to  avow  it  to  his  friends  and  the  world.  He  says  your 
fearlessness,  in  declaring  your  principles,  filled  him  with  shame, 
and  urged  him  to  emulate  your  example." 

Here  was  one  sheaf — an  earnest  of  whitening  harvest.  The 
barrenness  of  opportunities  for  serving  and  honouring  her 
Redeemer,  was  a  troublesome  stumbling-block.  Her  sphere  of 
usefulness  was  so  limited ;  and  she  had  talents,  which  might  be 
deployed  to  some  purpose  in  a  larger  arena.  The  glowing  zeal 
of  a  young  convert  called  for  action.  In  a  moment  of  discontent 
with  herself,  and  perhaps  with  her  situation,  she  had  expressed 
this  to  Charley,  who  silenced  her  with  one  line — 

"'They  also  serve,  who  only  stand  and  wait/" 

The  intelligence  of  Arthur's  conversion  was  an  unlooked-for  and 
refreshing  element  in  her  week's  felicity.  "Now,  Charley,  one 
thing  more  I"  she  said,  when  they  were  talking  it  over.  She 
seldom  made  a  pointed  appeal,  although  he  always  took  it  kindly. 
He  did  not  reflect  her  smile — he  only  said,  gravely ; — "  You 
cannot  desire  it  more  than  I  do,  Ida." 

Invigorated  in  soul  and  body,  and  with  a  bounteous  store  of 


A  L  ONE.  271 

loviug  memories  heaped  up  for  the  time  of  famine,  she  sought 
her  uncongenial  home.  "  Ah,  well !  it's  allers  been  my  expe- 
rience that  molasses  and  water  is  mighty  apt  to  sour,  if  it's  kept; 
and  it  don't  deceive  me  now,"  remarked  the  oracular  Rachel, 
with  the  decline  of  the  honeymoon.  The  metaphor  was  apt. 
Mr.  Head's  fondness  was  the  saccharine  that  qualified  the  insi- 
pidity of  his  wife's  apathy.  He  had  been  elevated  to  the 
seventh  heaven  of  ecstacy,  at  his  triumph  over  a  host  of  rivals, 
younger  than  himself.  Her  evident  preference  had  incited  him 
to  the  contest,  and  he  had  no  misgivings  of  its  reality.  She  was 
•'<  a  splendid  woman  I"  He  delighted  in  exhibiting  her ;  and 
icaring  this  from  all  sides,  with  compliments  and  congratula- 
tions to  himself.  But  this  renewal  of  youth  was  evanescent. 
He  had  counted  more  than  half  a  century — she,  not  a  quarter ; 
and  outraged  nature  revenged  herself  for  his  infatuation  in  striv- 
ing to  overleap  this  mighty  gap.  She  was  a  "  splendid  woman !'; 
that  was  unquestionable;  but  as  he  mounted  guard,  from  ten  at 
night  to  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  against  the  wall  of 
the  assembly-room,  waiting  for  her  to  despatch  the  list  of  part- 
ners that  covered  both  sides  of  her  tablets — he  tired  and  moped, 
and  stupidly  wondering  if  the  radiant  creature,  whose  laugh  came 
to  him  with  each  whirl  of  the  interminable  waltz,  were  in  truth 
married,  and  7iis  wife  !  it  is  problematical  if  he  derived  perma- 
nent consolation  from  the  well-timed  praises  of  his  old  friends, 
who  facetiously  inquired  if  he  were  not  "jealous  of  his  pretty 
bird" — or  felt  greatly  flattered  by  the  fine  things,  comparative 
strangers  were  saying  about  "  his  daughter."  She  was  a  "  splen- 
did woman !"  and  she  shone  most  at  the  largest  party  of  the 
winter,  where  everybody  danced  (she  most  sylph-like  of  all) 
except  the  papas  and  mammas,  and  the  "past-worthy"  chaperons. 
The  rooms  were  hot : — the  dancers  must  have  air — the  window? 
were  robbed  of  their  sashes.  Mr.  Read  was  in  a  draught — what 
of  that  1  the  reflection  of  his  wife's  splendor  should  have  warmed 
him.  She  was  not  uncomfortable ; — so  she  glided  and  pirouetted 
and  swam  by  in  the  polka,  and  he  shook  as  if  he  were  afflicted 
with  a  dance  of  quite  another  name.  An  attack  of  inflammatory 
rheumatism  was  the  finale.  His  life  was  in  danger  for  awhile: 
and  to  his  wife's  credit,  be  it  said,  she  nursed  him  dutifully,  ii 
not  affectionately,  until  he  entered  upon  his  convalescence. 


272  ALONE. 

A  few  morning8  after  the  doctors  announced  his  safety,  Ida 
observed,  at  breakfast,  that  Mrs.  Read  was  looking  badly. 

"  Confinement  in  a  sick-room  does  not  agree  with  you,  I  fear," 
said  she,  with  interest.  "We  must  not  let  you  fall  ill,  too. 
Will  you  not  delegate  one  of  us  to  represent  you  this  forenoon, 
while  you  take  a  ride?" 

"  Constant  attendance  is  unnecessary,"  she  replied.  "  Here- 
after, I  shall  not  stay  in  doors  as  I  have  been  doing.  I  thank 
you  for  your  offer,  however.  If  I  can  avail  myself  of  it,  I  will 
do  so." 

"  Why  did  he  not  come  down  to  breakfast  ?"  asked  Josephine, 
ironically. 

" He  cannot  leave  his  bed;"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"  Nor  turn  himself  in  it,  I  believe,  madam  ?" 

"  You  are  right." 

"  It  must  cost  you  a  pang  to  surrender  to  another  the  privi- 
lege of  allaying  his  pains,  and  paying  those  endearing  little 
attentions,  to  which  affection  imparts  such  sweetness.  How  can 
you  think  of  it?" 

"  I  do  not  consider  my  health  unimportant." 

"Not  in  comparison  with  his?"  continued  Josephine,  pro- 
vokingly. 

"  The  duty  is  not  rendered  less  imperative  by  any  compari- 
son." 

"  The  pursuit  of  pleasure  and  ease  is  included  in  this  prudent 
care  of  yourself,  I  presume,  madam?" 

"  In  that,  as  in  everything  else,  I  shall  consult  my  own  incli- 
nations." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  a  woman  had  a  will  of  her  own  after 
she  married,"  retorted  Josephine. 

"I  am  not  conscious  of  having  lost  my  volition  or  free, 
agency." 

"  And  acting  upon  this  unbiassed  volition,  you  will  occupy 
your  box  at  the  theatre  to-night.  I  saw  a  ticket  upon  the  table 
in  the  parlor." 

"  I  shall  be  there ;  but  there  will  be  room  for  you,  and  what- 
ever friend  you  honor  by  accompanying." 

"  And  this  is  conjugal  devotion  !"  the  suppressed  wrath  boil- 
ing over, — "  After  cajoling  a  feeble  old  man  into  marrying  you, 


ALONE.  273 

you  desert  him  upon  a  bed  of  languishing,  where  he  is  laid  by 
your  follies,  to  flirt  with  your  train  of  gallants  in  the  most  public 
place  in  the  city  I" 

"  If  you  have  more  remarks  of  like  import  to  make,  I  will 
hear  them  in  your  father's  presence,  Miss  Head,"  answered  the 
unruffled  step-mother.  "  Miss  Ida,  please  excuse  my  withdraw- 
ing before  you  have  finished  your  breakfast." 

Josephine  had  emphatically  picked  this  quarrel.  She  had 
received  no  provocation,  and  combined  with  this  disadvantage, 
that  of  loss  of  temper.  Chafing  with  anxiety  to  commence  the 
warfare  she  had  declared,  she  was  too  eager  to  wait  for  a  pretext; 
and  had  plunged  into  a  rash  conflict,  before  estimating  the 
strength  of  the  enemy's  forces.  Ida  said  nothing,  until  she  was 
ready  to  leave  the  room.  She  deemed  it  her  duty  to  speak. 

"  Josephine,"  said  she,  mildly,  "  it  is  not  my  place  to  dictate 
to  you;  but  as  a  well-wisher,  I  warn  you  not  to  carry  this 
further.  Constant  dissension  will  be  the  only  result.  She  is 
inclined  to  live  peaceably  with  you;  and  she  will  be  a  dangerous, 
a  powerful  enemy." 

"  Have  I  asked  your  advice  ?"  said  Josephine.  Her  scowl  dis- 
suaded Ida  from  a  second  remonstrance.  In  reckless  audacity, 
she  proceeded  straight  to  her  father's  chamber.  It  was  pitiable 
to  see  that  gray-haired  man — helpless  as  infancy  with  disease, 
and  remember  that  his  frayed  thread  of  life  was  entwisted  with 
the  golden  cord  of  hers,  who  had  barely  attained  the  meridian  of 
her  early  womanhood. 

Josephine's  visits  had  been  rare  and  brief,  and  his  salutation 
was  surly.  "  To  what  am  I  indebted  for  this  superlative  plea- 
sure?" he  inquired,  stretching  his  upper  lip  across  his  teeth,  as 
was  his  wont,  when  displeased. 

"  If  I  had  supposed  that  my  presence  was  conducive  to  your 
comfort,  no  consideration  should  have  detained  me  from  you 
sir,"  was  the  meaning  rejoinder. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  moved  uneasily,  and  asked  his  wife 
for  water.  The  goblet  was  nearest  Josephine,  and  she  held  it 
to  him.  "Lift  my  head  I"  he  said,  fretfully,  "Ugh  !  you  hurt 
me!  this  comes  of  your  officiousness.  Why  couldn't  you  let  Jiei 
doit?" 


274  ALONE. 

"  1  regret,  sir,  that  my  unskilful  touch  is  painful/'  said  Jose- 
phine, "  since  you  are  to  be  dependent  upon  my  cares." 

"What  the  deuce  are  you  talking  about?"  he  demanded, 
sharply. 

The  slumberous  eyes  surveyed  her  listlessly  over  the  couch. 

"My  speech  is  blunt,  sir;  I  learned  it  from  you,  and  I  hava 
an  inconvenient  practice  of  saying  what  I  think.  Old  men,  -who 
have  young  and  fashionable  wives,  should  not  indulge  in  the 
luxury  of  sickness.  What  woman,  who  has  a  right  appreciation 
of  her  charms,  can  hesitate  what  course  to  pursue,  when  a 
decrepid  husband  is  put  in  one  scale — society  and  a  score  of 
beaux  in  the  other  ?" 

His  glare  of  impotent  fury  was  demoniacal — he  was  too  weak 
to  control  it.  The  liquid  eyes  were  dreamy  and  motionless  still. 
The  irascible  old  man  jerked  his  head  so  that  he  could  see  her 
face — "  Helen  !  what  is  that  girl  driving  at  ?" 

"  She  can  best  explain  herself,  sir." 

"  Speak!"  he  commanded,  at  the  top  of  his  tremulous  voice. 

"  I  hope  you  have  made  your  will,  sir ;"  said  Josephine, 
deliberately. 

"By  my  life,  I  will  do  it,  and  cut  you  off,  without  a  copper, 
if  you  parley  much  more !" 

"  You  virtually  severed  our  connection  two  months  ago,  sir. 
A  stranger  has  supplanted  me  in  your  heart  and  house ;  and  up 
to  this  time,  I  have  held  my  peace.  This  is  my  revenge.  Your 
idol,  having  used  you  for  her  pleasure  and  advancement,  does  not 
mean  that  this  sickness,  caused  by  your  doating  indulgence, 
shall  fetter  her  dainty  limbs.  On  the  contrary,  it  frees  her  from 
the  restraint  of  your  observation, — the  incumbrance  of  your 
attentions." 

She  dropped  each  word  slowly,  purposely  to  aggravate  his 
impatience,  which  was  now  frightful.  Manacled,  bound  down 
by  the  fiery  bands  of  his  malady,  he  writhed,  as  upon  a  Procrus- 
tean bed. 

"  Helen  !  speak  !  tell  her  she  lies  !" 

"  I  never  reply  to  inuendoes,  sir."  The  eyes  were  passionless 
as  ever. 

«  She  is  gentlenesH  and  patience  personified,"  said  Josephine 


ALONE.  275 

"  Ask  whom  she  will  accompany  to  the  theatre  to-night  and  pray 
her, — your  faithful  wife — to  stay  with  you." 

"The  theatre!"  he  uttered.  "Are  you  going,  and  with 
whom  ?" 

"  With  Mr.  and  Miss  Talbot ;"  and  save  that  she  fastened 
her  gaze  upon  him,  instead  of  her,  she  looked  and  spoke  the 


"  The  <  Miss,'  is  an  adroit  addenda,"  sneered  Josephine. 

Her  father  was  silent.  His  selfishness  was  wounded.  He 
was  angered  and  mortified  that  his  wife  should  consign  him  to 
the  care  of  others  and  find  enjoyment  in  gay  recreations,  while 
he  lay  crippled  and  racked;  but  he  detected  the  spring  of  Jose- 
phine's interference,  and  pride  cried  loudly  that  her  impertinent 
malice  should  be  punished.  A  study  of  his  wife's  determined 
face  settled  the  point.  If  they  differed,  the  mischief-maker  should 
not  know  it.  »  Hark  you  !"  said  he,  with  sudden  composure. 
"  I  see  your  game,  my  lady,  and  you  may  as  well  throw  up  your 
cards.  I  am  master  in  my  house,  and  there  is  no  law  against 
turning  you  out  of  it.  I  thought  I  had  taught  you  this  already. 
I  have  a  piece  of  advice,  you  will  do  well  to  bear  in  mind. 
Attend  to  your  own  business,  and  let  your  betters  alone.  Now, 
be  off!  and  don't  let  me  see  you  again  until  you  can  behave 
yourself." 

"  I  obey  you,  sir.  If  you  want  my  services,  I  trust  you  will 
send  for  me." 

Mr.  Eead  was  awkwardly  embarrassed,  when  left  with  his 
wife.  Domineering  and  stubborn  as  he  was,  she  awed  him. 
Her  haughty  endurance  of  his  foolish  fondness  gave  him  no  lien 
upon  her  affections ;  and  the  sang-froid,  she  had  preserved  under 
Josephine's  insolence,  was  a  bad  augury  of  the  efficacy  of 
reproaches.  She  consulted  her  watch,  and  informed  him  that  it 
was  the  hour  for  his  medicine  ;  administered  it,  and  shook  up 
his  pillow. 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  coaxingly,  "  are  you  in  earnest  about  leaving 
me?  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Sarah  will  wait  upon  you.  I  have  the  utmost  confidence  in 
her  fidelity." 

"  "But  what  is  a  servant's  nursing,  after  yours?" 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  entertain  this  repugnance  to  every  one's 


276  ALONE. 

attentions  but  mine.  My  health  and  spirits  are  injured  by 
fatigue  and  want  of  rest.  You  are  recovering,  there  is  no  abso- 
lute necessity  for  my  remaining  with  you ;  and  it  is  necessary 
that  I  should  take  care  of  myself.  We  had  best  suspend  this 
discussion,  Mr.  Read.  You  have  been  too  much  excited  this 
morning ;  and  arguments  are  useless,  as  my  plans  are  made." 

And  "  my  plans  are  made"  became  the  law  of  the  household, 
— Josephine  excepted,  who  had  her  schemes  also.  There  was  an 
ominous  calm.  Mr.  Read  mended  gradually.  His  daughter's 
resentment  outlived  his ;  but  his  pride  was  as  inflexible  as  hers. 
She  would  not  enter  his  chamber,  and  he  would  not  recall  her. 
His  wife  performed  mechanically  a  routine  of  duties,  self-enjoined, 
as  covering  all  that  could  be  required  of  her.  The  residue  of  her 
time  was  devoted  to  the  world,  out  of  which,  she  did  not  seem 
to  live.  She  held  her  position  as  leader  of  the  ton.  She  was 
the  best-bred,  best-dressed,  and  best-educated  woman  of  her 
circle.  No  party  was  complete  without  her ;  and  none  vied  with 
hers,  in  elegance  and  agreeableness.  People  gossipped,  and 
prophecied,  and  pitied  her  "poor  old  husband" — courted  and 
aped  her.  Ida  had  made  a  public  profession  of  her  faith,  and  was 
humbly  "  waiting."  Her  health  did  not  now  debar  her  from 
mingling  in  society ;  and  she  could  discern  neither  wisdom  nor 
piety  in  a  hermit's  life.  Her  re-appearance  amongst  them  was 
hailed  with  acclamations  by  most  of  her  acquaintances.  Some 
were  shy  for  a  time,  thanks  to  Josephine's  exposition  of  her 
"  strait-laced  notions ;"  but  her  cheerful  frankness  banished  their 
reserve ;  and  if  not  so  noisily  admired,  she  was  more  beloved 
than  in  her  palmy  days. 

She  was  one  evening  at  a  "  sociable"  at  Mrs.  Morris',  the 
cynosure  of  a  group,  the  liveliest  in  the  room,  for  it  comprised 
Ellen,  Mr.  Thornton,  Charley,  Mr.  Germaine,  Mr.  Villet,  and 
Richard  Copeland.  Charley  was  relating  an  amusing  story ;  and 
Ida's  peculiarly  contagious  laugh  created  as  much  merriment  as 
the  anecdote. 

"  Miss  Ross  is  ever  happy,"  said  Mr.  Villet.  "  Your  being 
devoid  does  not  make  you  sad,  morose — comme  d  I  ordinaire." 

A  glance  of  apprehension  was  exchanged  by  some  of  the  circle  ; 
and  Ida  colored,  as  she  replied,  smiling,  « I  do  not  know  why  it 
should,  Mr.  Villet," 


ALONE.  277 

The  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders :  "  Nor  I !  I  do  not 
comprehend  these  affairs  myself,  but  it  is  usual,  I  believe,  for  the 
visible  visage  to  elongate  with  the  expansion  of  the — gu'est  ce  ^ 
gue  c'est? — grace  in  the  soul." 

There  was  a  laugh.  Charley  and  Ida  were  grave ;  and  Mr. 
Villet's  politeness  took  the  alarm.  "  I  entreat  your  pardon, 
Miss  Ross  ;  I  did  not  meditate  an  offence." 

"You  have  given  none,"  answered  she.  "  You  would  not 
knowingly  make  sport  of  what  you  must  respect.  Religion  is 
not  gloomy,  nor  is  it  ridiculous." 

"  Its  professors,  with  some  honorable  exceptions,  are  one  or 
the  other,"  said  Richard. 

"This  is  their  misfortune  or  failing,  not  the  fault  of  the 
system,"  returned  Ida.  "  Mortal  nature  is  fallible,  Mr.  Cope- 
land." 

"  You  admit  it,  then  ?"  said  Mr.  Thornton.  «  The  greatest 
objection  I  have  to  pious  people  is  that  they  do  not  permit  this 
indulgence  to  abused  human  nature.  They  wind  themselves  up 
in  their  impenetrable  cloaks  of  sanctification  and  perfectionism, 
and  send  us — no  matter  where — for  hankering  after  innocent 
amusements.  And  if  one  of  their  caste  beats  time  to  a  merry 
tune,  or  shows  his  head  inside  of  a  theatre,  he  is  run  down  as 
if  he  had  the  hydrophobia.  Such  sermons  as  they  preach  about 
the  hand  or  foot  offending !  It  would  be  a  wise  precaution,  in 
my  judgment,  to  make  the  amputation  of  the  feet  part  of  the 
ceremony  of  initiation  into  church  membership.  You  are  superior 
to  such  narrow-mindedness,  I  hope,  Miss  Ida  ?" 

"  If  <  narrow-mindedness'  signifies  drawing  a  distinct  line  of 
demarcation  between  the  church  and  the  world,  I  shall  come 
under  your  lash,  Mr.  Thornton." 

"And  do  you,  candid  and  liberal  as  you  are,  declare  that 
there  is  sin — mind  you  !  a  '  want  of  conformity  to,  or  transgres- 
sion of  the  law  of  Grod' — in  moving  through  a  certain  form  ol 
steps  to  the  sound  of  music  ?"  said  he,  indignantly. 

"  I  do  not  profess  to  see  sin  in  the  mere  act  of  dancing," 
replied  Ida;  "but — I  do  not  wish  to  argue,  Mr.  Thornton.  If 
nothing  else  forbade  my  joining  in  the  amusement,  it  is  prohi- 
bited by  the  church  to  which  I  belong." 

"  Worse  and  worse  !     Miss  Ida,  this  is  unworthy  of  you.     It 
24 


278  ALONE. 

is  the  Papal  doctrine  of  depositing  one's  conscience  in  the  priest's 
pocket  book.  If  your  church  commanded  you  to  steal  or  kill, 
would  you  obey '{" 

"  No ;  for  a  higher  law  forbids  it.  I  am  bound  to  follow  the 
church  only  so  far  as  it  follows  the  Bible." 

"  But  the  Bible  says  there  is  a  time  to  dance." 

Ida  smiled  ;  "  I  am  surprised,"  said  she,  "  that  sensible  per 
sons  should  quote  that  poor  text  so  frequently,  as  authority  for 
dancing.  In  the  same  connection  we  read,  <  there  is  a  time  to 
kill ;' — you  would  be  loath  to  defend  a  murderer  who  justified 
his  crime  by  an  appeal  to  this  passage.  'A  time  to  die;' — who 
sees  in  this  permission  to  shorten  his  days  ?" 

"  And  you  must  turn  pavier,  Thornton,  because  '  there  is  a 
time  to  gather  stones  together,'  "  said  Charley. 

There  was  another  laugh,  in  which  Mr.  Thornton  joined 
good-humoredly.  "  Weak  as  my  text  is,  I  am  consoled  by  the 
knowledge  that  you  cannot  produce  one  interdicting  that  which 
reason  and  observation  teach  is  not  reprehensible." 

"  Not  an  explicit  prohibition,  perhaps,"  answered  she,  hesi- 
tating. 

"  Well  an  implied  one,  then  ?'' 

Ida's  cheeks  flushed,  painfully,  but  her  voice  was  firm  as  she 
said,  » I  read,  <  Be  ye  not  conformed  to  the  world ;'  and  <  What- 
soever ye  do,  do  all  to  the  honor  and  glory  of  Grod,7  and  my 
conscience  says  I  would  be  guilty  of  wilful  disobedience  to  the 
written  commandment,  and  dishonor  my  profession,  if  I  disre- 
garded the  plain  meaning  of  these  words/' 

Charley  had  bided  his  time.  She  stood  the  test  well,  and  he 
came  in  to  the  rescue.  "  She  is  right,  Thornton.  You  and  I 
know  it — why  dispute  it  ?  Only  yesterday,  you  were  laughing 
at  the  inconsistency  of  the  <  dancing  Christians'  you  frolicked 
with  down  the  country." 

"  I  commended  their  liberality,  their  freedom  from  supersti- 
tion," interposed  Thornton,  still  laughing. 

"  Humbug !  you  said — <  they  have  found  a  road  to  the  Celes- 
tial City,  which  our  orthodox  brethren  about  here  do  not  patron- 
ise ; — have  graded  and  widened  the  strait  and  narrow  way  we 
read  of,  until  it  is  as  smooth  as  a  ball-room  floor ;  and  dance  up 
the  shining  route.  I  used  to  think  some  preparation  was  requi- 


ALONE.  279 

-  site,  before  I  could  be  fitted  for  heaven ;  but  I  am  comforted  in 
spirit  since  meeting  them.  My  chance  is  as  good  as  theirs  in 
the  long  run.'  Those  were  your  very  words — deny  them  if  you 
can,  or  that  you  were  ridiculing  them.  You  are,  like  myself, 
more  than  a  Sabbath-day's  journey  from  being  a  Christian ;  and 
you  assert  that  they  are  not  much  better  off.  The  plain  English 
of  which  is,  that  you  are  consistent  to  your  professions ; — they 
say  they  believe  one  thing,  and  practise  the  opposite.  Pretend- 
ing to  despise  the  vanities  of  this  life,  they  pursue  them  more 
eagerly  than  the  things  which  are  unseen  and  eternal.  If  a  man 
unites  himself  with  the  church,  let  him  live  as  if  he  were  changed. 
I  go  to  the  threatre,  although  I  do  not  consider  it  the  best  school 
of  morals  one  can  frequent)  but  it  grieves  me  to  see,  in  my 
neighbor,  a  so-called  pious  man.  I  am  ashamed  for  him — my 
respect  for  the  reputation  of  his  church  is  greater  than  his.  I 
dance — and  sleep  afterwards  with  an  easy  conscience  ;  but  if  you 
ever  see  me  '  tripping  on  the  light  fantastic  toe,'  with  an  angelic 
creature  who  is  a  communicant  in  a  Bible-reading  sect,  you  may 
write  it  down  as  an  immutable  fact,  that  she  asked  me — not  I 
her !" 

Charley  was  lawless.  Nobody  criticised  or  was  offended  with 
him;  and  Ida  was  always  certain  of  finding  in  him,  an  ally  and 
advocate ;  but  grateful  as  she  was  for  his  ready  aid,  upon  occa- 
sions like  the  present,  she  prized  more  highly  the  counsels, 
which  his  knowledge  of  mankind,  and  his  undeviating  sense  of 
rectitude  qualified  him  to  give.  She  had  faults, — he  pointed 
them  out;  she  erred  in  judgment, — he  corrected  the  evil  as  far 
as  he  could.  The  spectacle  of  his  daily  life  was  useful.  He 
possessed  almost  boundless  influence  over  his  associates,  and 
their  attachment  to  him  was  close  and  strong.  They  under- 
stood, intuitively,  the  worth  of  the  inner  man, — never  fully 
unveiled  to  the  majority  of  them,  and  could  not  but  admire  and 
esteem.  And  Ida's  constant  thought  of  him  was — "If  he,  call- 
ing himself  unconverted,  accomplishes  so  much — what  ought 
not  I — a  Christian,  to  attempt  ?" 


280  ALONE. 


CHAPTEE    XXIV. 

MR.  HEAD  was  in  his  private  sitting-room; — it  adjoined  his 
chamber,  and  his  longest  walk  was  from  one  apartment  to  the 
other.  The  sun  beamed  cheerfully  through  the  damask  curtains, 
and  the  fire  blazed  and  crackled  in  the  grate ;  but  wrapped 
in  his  wadded  dressing-gown,  his  feet  sunk  heavily  into  a 
cushion,  and  his  face  contracted  into  a  fretful  frown,  he  appeared 
to  be  enduring  the  extreme  of  cold  and  discomfort.  He  was  a 
sorry  picture  of  a  three  months'  bridegroom.  His  surroundings 
were  tasteful  and  luxurious, — books  and  papers  and  pictures  and 
handsome  furniture,  and  at  his  elbow  stood  a  silver  hand-bell, 
whose  tongue  would  bring  an  obsequious  servant,  ready  to  per- 
form his  bidding ;  yet  his  sigh,  as  he  'fidgeted  uneasily  in  his 
downy  fauteuil,  was  a  groan  of  repining. — "Like  a  jaded  old 
hack!  they  won't  knock  him  in  the  head,  in  consideration  of 
past  services ;  but  he  may  die  as  soon  as  he  can — the  quicker  the 
better !" 

"  The  Northern  papers  have  come,  sir,  and  I  thought  you 
would  like  to  see  them;"  said  a  gentle  voice.  It  was  his  ward. 
A  grunt  and  a  gesture  bade  her  put  them  upon  the  stand. 

"  Are  you  in  pain  this  afternoon  ?"  she  asked,  sympathizingly. 

"  I  am  always  in  pain  !" 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?" 

"  No  \"  He  reached  for  the  papers ;  but  a  twinge  in  his  shoulder 
forced  him  to  drop  them.  Ida  picked  them  up.  The  desolate 
old  man  excited  her  sincerest  pity. 

"  It  must  weary  you,  holding  those  large  sheets ;  and  the  print 
is  fine.  If  you  will  designate  the  articles  you  wish  read,  I  will 
do  it  for  you  with  pleasure." 

The  offer  was  tempting,  although  its  acceptance  was  ungra- 
cious. He  pointed  to  a  piece,  and  she  removed  her  bonnet  and 
seated  herself  near  him.  He  did  not  inquire  if  she  were  going 
out,  and  she  did  not  make  her  sacrifice  meritorious  in  his  eyes, 
by  informing  him  that  she  gave  up  her  walk  to  minister  to  hia 
enjoyment.  She  read  well ; — her  voice  was  exquisitely  modu- 


ALONE.  281 

lated;  her  enunciation  perfect ;  Mr.  Read  forgot  to  be  peevish, 
and  his  corrugated  forehead  lost  half  its  wrinkles.  When  she 
ceased,  he  seemed  to  have  been  lulled  by  a  strain  of  music.  The 
article  selected  was  an  editorial  leader  on  political  economy, 
unintelligible  and  prosy  to  Ida;  but  she  endeavored  not  to  let  this 
appear.  He  nodded,  and  stripped  the  envelope  from  another 
sheet.  His  eye  gleamed,  and  with  an  approach  to  a  smile,  he 
showed  her  six  columns  of  an  oration ; — a  grand  effort  of  the 
immortal  sage  of  Marshfield.  Ida  was  appalled  at  the  superficies 
of  the  solid  mass,  but  she  said  over  to  herself,  a  verse  she  had 
lisped  at  her  mother's  knee. 

"  Did  I  this  day,  for  small  or  great, 

My  own  pursuits  forego, 
To  lighten,  by  a  feather's  weight, 

The  load  of  human  woe?" 

and  began  the  terrible  undertaking.  The  preamble  over,  she 
became  insensibly  interested.  Her  soul-lit  face  and  ringing  in- 
tonations supplied  to  the  auditor,  the  actual  presence  of  the 
orator;  he  looked  and  listened  until  the  light  failed;  then 
rang  for  candles.  Mrs.  Read,  returning  from  her  airing,  seated 
herself  silently  by  the  fire.  It  was  the  prettiest  domestic  scene 
that  had  ever  been  witnessed  in  that  house;  and  how  little 
reality  was  there  in  its  air  of  home-happiness  I 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  asked  Mr.  Read,  at  supper-time. 

"  Almost,  sir.  I  can  soon  finish  it.  I  will  not  detain  you  Mrs. 
Head."  But  she  waited  to  hear  the  conclusion.  A  gruff  "Thank 
you,"  was  Ida's  only  reward,  besides  the  praise  of  her  conscience; 
and  her  tired  throat  obliged  her  to  refuse  Charley  his  favorite 
song  that  night,  but  she  did  not  repent.  She  volunteered  her 
services  whenever  she  knew  that  there  were  new  books  or  journals, 
and  at  length,  the  latest  intelligence  was  distasteful,  unless  it 
came  through  her  lips.  It  was  a  selfish  gratification ;  and  she 
did  not  delude  herself  with  illusions  of  personal  attachment.  She 
strove  to  live  for  the  benefit  and  pleasure  of  her  fellow-beings ;  to 
leave  her  interest  and  ease  out  of  sight;  and  she  could  not  have 
been  in  a  better  school.  The  woman's  heart  was  not  still.  There 
were  moments  of  weariness  and  longing,  and  passionate  regrets. 
The  soul,  refusing  the  realities,  which  made  up  the  sum  of  every- 
day duty,  pined  for  the  remembered  "Dream  Land ;" — its  retreat, 
24* 


282  ALONE. 

and  the  scene  of  its  holiday  revels ; — and  when  the  aching  and 
thirst  were  at  their  height,  it  was  a  trial  to  smile  at  a  caress  from 
Mrs.  Dana,  or  a  friendly  act  of  Charley's — dear  and  thoughtful 
brother!  when  she  could  have  rested  her  tired  head. upon  the 
kind  bosom,  and  wept  her  life  away — but  she  did  smile,  and 
bore  up  bravely  until  God  gave  her  strengh  to  rise  above  the 
weakness. 

The  Sabbath  was  a  season  of  delight.  A  band  of  little  girls 
watched  eagerly  for  her  at  Sabbath-school.  Inclement  indeed 
must  the  day  be,  that  saw  their  form  vacant  ;  for  she  was  always 
at  her  post,  and  regarded  snow  and  rain  as  minor  hindrances 
when  her  flock  nestled  closely  to  "  dear  Miss  Ida."  No  class 
loved  their  teacher  and  their  Bible  so  well  as  hers;  her  co-labo- 
rers said  she  had  a  secret  spell,  by  which  she  won  and  governed 
them;  and  she  had, — for  she  was  ever  mindful  that  she  had 
another  account  to  render  than  her  report  to  the  Superinten- 
dent, and  prayed  that  it  might  be — "  Those  whom  Thou  gavest 
me,  I  have  kept,  and  none  of  them  is  lost."  She  loved  her 
pastor ;  but  her  acquaintance  with  him  was  slight.  He  visited  her 
at  stated  times,  and  esteemed  her  an  "  amiable  girl,  with  a  credit- 
able fund  of  general  information ;"  he  "could  not  know  the  exer- 
cises of  all  his  members ;"  and  that  a  woman  whose  life  was  so 
uncheckered,  should  have  any  difficulties  and  sorrows,  but  such 
as  are  incidental  to  the  experience  of  every  Christian,  never 
crossed  his  brain.  But  he  was  a  faithful  expounder  of  the  Scrip- 
tures; and  if  he  did  not  remark  the  changeful  light  of  the  eyes, 
which  never  released  him  from  the  text  to  the  "  Amen"  of  his 
discourse; — she  felt  that  consolations  and  advice  so  applicable, 
must  be  meant  for  her ;  and  remembered  him  in  her  orisons,  as 
a  Shepherd  who  eared  for  his  sheep,  and  selected  for  each,  food 
convenient  for  him.  She  resolved  repeatedly,  to  thank  him  for 
his  fidelity;  but  her  courage  melted  when  the  opportunity 
arrived ;  and  she  would  rebuke  the  vanity  that  bred  the  desire. 
She  read  that  in  the  primitive  church,  "  those  who  loved  the  Lord, 
spake  often  to  one  another ;"  and  imagined,  in  her  simplicity, 
that  such  intercourse  would  be  of  mutual  comfort  and  profit ; 
yet  a  seal  was  upon  her  mouth,  und  she  waited  and  wished  in 
vain,  for  a  word  in  the  conversation  of  her  brethren,  which  would 
dissolve  it.  It  was  strange  that  she  could  speak  freely  and 


ALONE.  283 

heartily  to  Carry  and  to  Charley,  and  be  restrained  by  the  pre- 
sence of  those,  who  had  tasted  like  joys — were  bound  upon  the 
same  pilgrimage  as  herself. 

There  was  an  exception — a  minister  from  another  State,  with 
whom  she  once  dined  at  Mr.  Dana's ;  a  merry-hearted,  whole- 
souled  man,  whose  store  of  anecdote  and  pleasantry  enlivened  the 
company  at  table ; — and  after  dinner,  gathering  from  a  passing 
remark,  that  she  was  a  professing  Christian,  he  sought  her  out ; 
and  while  the  rest,  were  busy  about  other  matters,  they  were 
talking  of  the  "  peace  which  passeth  understanding,"  and  the 
home  in  preparation  for  them ; — not  with  austere  gravity,  but, 
easily  and  happily,  as  befitted  a  topic  so  inspiriting.  They  sepa- 
rated— not  to  meet  again  in  time ;  and  Ida  went  on  her  way, 
cheered  and  strengthened  by  the  interview,  and  hoping  to  thank 
him  in  heaven,  for  the  seed  he  had  sowed  by  the  wayside — not 
in  the  Scriptural  sense  of  the  term. 

Mr.  Read's  disease  assumed  a  chronic  type.  Some  days  well 
enough  to  transact  business  in  person, — then  relapsing,  in  con- 
sequence of  trifling  exposure  or  change  of  weather,  his  existence 
was  a  series  of  anxieties  und  sufferings.  Ida  did  not  know  how 
she  became  his  nurse  ;  Josephine  would  not  endure  his  petulance, 
and  her  retorts  exasperated  him  ;  and  his  wife  was  too  deep  in 
the  vortex  of  fashionable  life  to  waste  many  minutes  upon  him ; 
it  was  unjust  and  unfeeling  to  abandon  him  to  the  care  of  menials; 
and  as  with  her  reading,  what  was  a  favor,  voluntarily  offered, 
came  to  be  regarded  as  a  duty,  expected  and  unrequited.  The 
Dauas  objected  to  this  thankless  sacrifice;  but  she  persisted. 
It  was  during  one  of  his  worst  spells,  that  an  incident  occurred, 
which  she  did  not  heed  at  the  time,  but  when  recalled  by  sub- 
sequent events,  was  fraught  with  meaning.  It  was  in  the  evening ; 
and  she  was  on  her  way  to  the  dining-room,  to  order  a  cup  of 
tea  for  the  invalid,  when  the  light  streaming  through  a  crack  in 
the  parlor-door  suggested  the  probability  that  the  servant  she  was 
in  quest  of,  was  lighting  the  lamps  in  there.  She  pushed  the 
door  open.  Mrs.  Read  was  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  her  face 
averted,  and  her  arm  extended  in  repulsion  or  denial,  towards 
a  tall,  dark  man,  who  was  speaking  in  a  low,  excited  tone. 
"  ( Forget  I'  I  do  not  forget  that  circumstances  are  not  what  they 
were  then  !"  was  all  that  Ida  heard,  as  she  retired  hastily  and 


284  ALONE. 

unseen.  As  she  passed  through  the  entry,  she  caught  a  noise,  like 
the  rustle  of  drapery,  but  supposed  it  to  be  the  waving  of  her 
dress  in  the  wind.  Mr.  Read  was  in  agony;  and  Ida  sent  to 
request  Dr.  Ballard's  immediate  presence.  The  messenger's 
steps  were  not  cold  upon  the  stairs,  when  the  sick  man  tor- 
mented himself  with  impatience  for  the  physician's  arrival. 

"  If  the  servant  had  a  pass,  it  was  not  signed — if  it  was  signed, 
he  had  lost  it — if  he  had  lost  it,  Ballard  would  wait  to  eat  his 
supper,  before  he  came.  I  wish  he  had  this  shooting  fire  through 
his  limbs  !  It  would  put  'some  speed  into  his  lazy  body !  Ah  ! 
there  he  is!" 

It  was  Mrs.  Read,  who  meeting  the  servant  with  the  tea,  and 
hearing  of  her  husband's  state,  had  taken  it  from  him.  Ida, 
pre-occupied  as  she  was,  noticed  that  she  was  pale  and  agitated. 
Her  voice  too,  was  tremulous,  and  had  a  cadence  that  might  have 
been  mistaken  for  tenderness. 

"  I  grieve  to  see  you  so  much  worse.  Drink  this,  it  may 
relieve  you,"  she  said,  slipping  her  hand  under  his  pillow  to  raise 
his  head.  Ida  sprang  forward  to  arrest  the  movement.  He  was 
Buffering  excruciating  pain  in  his  neck ;  and  frantic  at  its  aug- 
mentation by  this  change  of  position,  he  dashed  the  cup  to  the 
floor,  with  a  shocking  oath. 

"  You  want  to  kill  me  !  I've  seen  that  for  a  long  time ;  and 
then  you  can  flaunt  to  your  heart's  content.  You  can  marry 
whom  you  please,  and  make  him  rich  with  my  money,  like  the 
shameless  wretch  you  are  I"  he  yelled,  distractedly. 

The  smothered  fire  leaped  high — the  dark  eye  blazed  with 
wrath,  but  she  uttered  not  a  sound,  as  she  turned  from  him.  Ida 
had  never  seen  such  a  look  in  mortal  face,  and  wild  with  fear 
of,  she  know  not  what,  darted  after  her,  and  overtook  her  in- the 
dressing-room. 

"  Oh  !  do  not !  do  not !"  she  exclaimed,  flinging  her  arms 
around  the  stately  form. 

"Do  not  what?"  said  the  lady,  trying  to  unlock  her  fingers. 
Ida  held  her  fast. 

"  Oh  !  the  horrible  thing  that  is  in  your  thoughts  !  He  is 
mad  with  pain — he  did  not  mean — did  not  think  what  he  did. 
He  says  as  hard  things  to  me,  to  every  one — but  he  loves  you  ! 
he  does  love  you!"  and  dropping  her  head  upon  the  lady's  breast, 


ALONE  285 

she  sobbed  like  a  child.  The  haughty  woman  stood  irresolute — 
passive  in  the  tenacious  grasp  of  the  over-excited  girl. 

"  He  drove  me  from  him — struck  me  I"  she  said,  in  thick 
accents.  (( Why  should  I  stay  ?" 

It  was  rather  a  soliloquy  than  a  question,  and  Ida  reiterated, 
"  He  did  not  mean  it !  he  loves  you  !" 

"  Do  you  love  him?"  inquired  the  lady,  lifting  her  face,  and 
gazing  piercingly  into  it. 

"  I  pity  him,"  said  Ida. 

"  Do  you  hate  him  ?"  she  asked,  more  energetically. 

"  JSfo,  I  hate  no  one." 

"  Yet  you  have  cause." 

"I  try  to  forgive." 

"You  do  not  hate  him!"  repeated  Mrs.  Head;  and  again  to 
herself,  she  added,  "/do!" 

Ida  let  her  go.  "  I  pity  him !"  she  said,  with  mournful 
earnestness,  "but  I  pity  you  more!  doomed  to  a  life  of  false- 
hood and  misery !  Heaven  pity  you  as  I  do." 

"  Stay  !"  said  Mrs.  Head,  as  she  would  have  gone  back  to  the 
chamber.-.  "Do  you  despise  me  utterly?  Am  I  lost?" 

"  <Lost!'  no — while  life  and  reason  last,  there  may  be  room 
for  repentance." 

"Repentance  !  what  had  she,  so  queenly  in  her  pride  and  beauty, 
to  do  with  repentance?  yet  the  words  seemed  to  strike  her. 
Mr.  Read's  querulous  tones  called  "Ida!"  "I  must  go,"  she 
said.  "  Will  you  come  ?" 

"  Not  now — presently." 

The  patient  was  slumbering  heavily  under  the  influence  of  the 
medicine  Dr.  Ballard  prescribed,  when  his  wife  rejoined  her 
assistant  nurse — lofty  and  unimpressible.  She  regarded  the 
sleeper  long  and  fixedly.  His  hair  was  nearly  white,  and  his 
features  pinched  by  sickness,  but  there  was  no  softening  of  com- 
passion in  the  rigid  lines  of  her  face.  Setting  her  chair  into  the 
shade,  she  was  speechless  and  motionless  for  hours.  They  watched 
him  together  all  night  j  exchanging  only  brief  remarks  as  to  his 
situation,  and  the  remedies  to  be  employed.  He  rallied  from 
this  seizure,  and  Ida  was  as  far  from  the  brilliant  worldling  as 
before. 

An  unexpected  event  attracted  her  from  the  retirement  in 


286  ALONE. 

which  her  charitable  functions  had  secluded  her.  Celestia  Pratt 
was  married  !  and  to  Ellen's  chagrin,  to  a  cousin  of  the  Morris 
family.  He  was  good-looking,  ambitious  and  poor; — she  sus- 
ceptible a  "Representative's"  daughter,  and  rich.  He  wrote  to 
his  aunt  that  they  would  take  Richmond  in  the  wedding-tour; 
and  she  was  obliged,  nolens  volens,  to  give  them  a  party.  Ida 
was  disinclined  to  attend;  but  Ellen's  solicitations  conquered 
her  reluctance.  Mr.  Cranleigh,  the  groom,  was  gentlemanly,  even 
handsome,  and  accepted  the  customary  greetings  with  as  much 
complacency,  as  though  his  wife  were  not,  as  Ellen  groaned  to 
Ida — "  Celestia,  unmitigated  Celestia  !" 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts !"  said  Ida,  tapping  Charley's 
arm  with  her  fan. 

" I  was  thinking  what  falsehoods  geologists  tell  us  about  the 
thickness  of  the  crust  of  the  earth,  and  how  many  years  the 
mines  of  Peru  have  been  worked." 

"A  profound  subject  for  deep  meditation,  but  I  am  at  a 
loss—" 

"Why,  allowing  a  thousand  brides  a  week  in  the  civilized 
world,  (and  there  are  quadruple  that  number,)  according  to  my 
rough  computation,  the  miners  ought  to  be  within  hail  of  the 
Chinese,  or  whatever  nation  is  the  antipodes  of  the  Peruvians, 
by  this  time." 

"  Their  kindred  craft,  the  jewellers,  have  been  called  upon  by 
the  Celestia-ls,"  said  Mr.  Thornton. 

"  'Pon  my  word !"  remarked  Pemberton  to  Josephine,  "  I 
have  heard  of  men  who  married  <  for  pretty/  but  it's  my  opinion, 
Cranleigh  married  for  ugly." 

Josephine  laughed,  but  her  attention  was  absorbed  by  some 
object  in  another  part  of  the  room.  "  You  know  everybody," 
said  she ;  "  who  is  that  gentleman  talking  with  the  bride  ?" 

He  knew  everybody,  and  this  must  be  nobody.  He  had 
certainly  seen  him  somewhere  before — it  might  have  been  at 
Newport — or  perhaps  in  New  Orleans,  yet  he  could  not  call  his 
name.  Why  did  she  inquire  ? 

"  A  question  by  the  way — she  was  not  curious.  He  had  a 
foreign  air,  and  she  fancied  might  be  one  of  Mr.  Pemberton'a 
friends — he  had  so  many  abroad." 


ALONE.  287 

He  had,  and  it  would  be  awkward  not  to  recollect  him,  if  he 
should  speak. 

"  There's  Cranleigh  !  he  knows  !" 

The  stranger's  name  was  Ashlin,  an  early  acquaintance  of 
Mrs.  Cranleigh's,  and  later  from  the  "West  Indies. 

"  Had  he  resided  there  long  ?"  Miss  Head  asked. 

"  Two  years — nearly  three,  indeed." 

Mr.  Ashlin  wfls  graceful  and  distingut,  and  Ida  was  attacked 
by  an  unaccountable  curiosity.  She  interrogated  the  bride. 

"  What  handsome  man  was  that,  you  were  conversing  with, 
awhile  ago,  Celestia?" 

Her  face  was  broad  with  smiles.  "  Law  !  why  Mr.  Cranleigh, 
my  husband,  to  be  sure  !  Haven't  you  been  introduced  ?  Here  ! 
Mr.  Gran—" 

"  Oh  !  don't !"  said  Ida.  " I  know  him — don't  interrupt 
him !  I  alluded  to  that  tall  gentleman  by  the  folding-doors." 

"  That's  Mr.  Ashlin.  He  used  to  live  close  by  Pa's ;  and 
then  his  uncle  died  out  in  Cuba  or  "West  India,  I  forget  which — 
and  he  went  off  there,  where  he's  been  three  years,  rolling  in 
money  they  say.  He's  mighty  smart  too — Tm  'most  afraid  of 
him.  Don't  he  look  like  a-a-cannibal  1"  said  Mrs.  Cranleigh, 
some  reminiscence  of  New  Zealand  history  coming  to  her  help. 

"  His  is  a  dark  beauty,  certainly,"  replied  Ida,  hiding  a  smile. 
"  I  should  say  if  he  had  not  lived  abroad,  that  I  had  seen  his 
face  somewhere  else." 

"You  needn't  be  setting  your  cap !"  retorted  the  bride,  spite- 
fully. "  He  won't  be  so  easy  caught  as  that  Mr.  Euston,  you  all 
think  such  an  Adolphus.  He's  engaged." 

«  Ah !  who  is  the  fortunate  lady  ?" 

«  A  Miss  Courtland, — or  some  such  name ; — that  is — he  was 
engaged  once,  but,  seems  to  me,  I've  heard  that  he  jilted  her, 
and  she  married  a  rich  old  man  for  his  <  tin/  " 

"  What  did  you  call  her  ?     Speak  lower !"  said  Ida. 

"Law !  you're  scared  !  what  ails  you?" 

"  Nothing — nothing  !"  laughing.  "  You  had  as  well  be  silent 
about  this  Mr.  Ashlin, — he  has  quick  ears,  and  gentleman  do 
not  admire  gossiping  ladies.  You  have  a  splendid  bouquet — is 
this  Mr.  Cranleigh's  taste?" 

And  while  the  history  of  the  courtship,  from  their  meeting  at 


288  ALONE. 

the  "  Sulphur  Springs"  to  the  present  glorification,  was  pouring 
upon  her  tympanum,  she  was  arguing  away  her  unjustifiable 
suspicions.  His  general  appearance  was  that  of  the  gentleman 
she  had  a  glimpse  of  in  Mr.  Read's  parlor;  and  Mrs.  Read's 
behaviour  that  evening  was  so  extraordinary  as  to  give  colour  to 
the  story ; — But  Celestia  always  garbled  the  simplest  narrations, 
murdering  names  and  jumbling  facts,  until  it  was  next  to  impos- 
sible to  arrive  at  the  truth.  A  three  years'  absence,  too  !  How 
nonsensical  she  was !  Her  fears  returned,  however,  with  rein- 
forcements, when  he  attached  himself  to  Mrs.  Read's  cordon  of 
admirers.  These  were  not  all  young  men.  Elderly  gentlemen, 
who  had  not  lost  their  eye  for  fair  faces,  and  taste  for  repartee, 
were  recipients  of  as  gracious  welcomes  as  were  apportioned  to 
their  youthful  rivals ;  and  sagacious  damsels,  of  doubtful  belle- 
ship  and  charms,  crept  beneath  the  wings  of  her  popularity, 
large  enough  to  shelter  a  female  favorite  or  so.  Mr.  Ashlin 
entered  the  outmost  precincts  of  this  circle,  and  by  imperceptible 
advances  penetrated  to  the  centre  of  attraction.  Mrs.  Read 
flushed  slightly,  with  surprise  or  displeasure,  as  he  established 
himself  by  her  side ;  but  nothing  intimidated,  he  presently 
usurped  the  management  of  the  conversation ;  holding  up  some 
to  ridicule  so  cleverly  that  they  had  only  themselves  to  blame, 
and  did  not  suspect  his  agency  j  flattering  others,  until  they 
dropped  off  like  surfeited  leeches ;  and  angering  some  so  openly, 
that  Ida,  who  was  near  enough  to  get  an  inkling  of  what  was 
transpiring,  was  assured  that  ho  was  playing  for  a  rich  stake. 
His  purpose  was  effected ;  he  had  a  clear  field ;  and  with  no 
alteration  of  manner,  unless  a  shade  of  respect  moderated  his 
gay  insouciance,  he  continued  his  attentions.  No  place  is  better 
for  a  confidential  confabulation  than  a  crowded  room,  if  the 
parties  understand  how  to  conduct  it.  The  initiated  would  have 
surmised  from  an  occasional  gleam  of  the  eye,  and  the  varying 
expression  of  that  most  uncontrollable  of  features,  the  mouth, 
that  something  more  important  than  sugared  nothings  was  upon 
the  tapis;  but  to  the  purblind  merrymakers,  as  a  body,  Mrs. 
Read  was  examining  a  portfolio  of  prints,  and  her  companion,  a 
travelled  gentleman,  descanting  upon  "  High  Art"  in  "  the 
States,"  as  contrasted  with  the  love  for  poetry,  painting  and 


ALONE.  289 

music,  which,  it  was  said,  prevailed  in  gay,  pleasure-loving 
Havana. 

Ida  was  surprised  that  Mr.  Ashlin  requested  a  presentation  to 
herself,  and  still  more  at  the  pertinacity  with  which  he  cultivated 
the  acquaintance  he  must  see  she  did  not  desire.  He  triumphed 
over  her  prejudice,  inveterate  as  she  had  thought  it.  His  air  of 
deep  interest — the  admiration,  too  respectful  to  be  conveyed  in 
words,  which  spoke  in  every  look  and  action,  were  dangerous 
flattery,  and  Ida  was  not  invulnerable.  But  in  reviewing  the 
events  of  the  evening,  distrust  obscured  the  pleasing  recollection 
of  his  captivating  address  and  the  magic  of  his  eloquence.  Why 
was  it  bestowed  upon  her — a  stranger,  and  so  little  attractive  iu 
her  appearance  ?  Why,  especially,  should  he  have  asked  per- 
mission to  call  ?  He  knew  Mrs.  Eead,  and  to  her  the  applica- 
tion should,  in  etiquette,  have  been  made.  There  was  a  vague 
apprehension  hanging  over  her — a  foreboding,  for  which  she 
could  assign  no  cause.  He  called,  as  he  had  promised,  "at 
an  early  day."  The  family  were  collected  in  Mr.  Read's  room, 
when  his  card  was  brought  to  the  lady  of  the  house. 

"  Mr.  Ashlin,"  she  read.     "  Whom  did  he  trek  for,  John  ?" 

"  The  ladies,  ma'am." 

«  Very  well.  Josephine,  I  will  thank  you  and  Miss  Ida  to 
receive  him,  and  excuse  me." 

"  Excuse  me,  if  you  please  !"  answered  Josephine,  bridling. 
"  I  scarcely  know  the  gentleman,  and  do  not  covet  the  honour." 

"  Miss  Ida  ?"  said  Mrs.  Read,  inquiringly. 

"  Why  not  go  down  with  me,  ma'am  ?   Are  you  indisposed  ?" 

"  You  need  not  say  so — I  am  engaged.  I  really  wish  it,"  she 
added,  for  Ida  was  undecided. 

"  Then  I  will  go,"  said  she,  with  a  sensation  cf  infinite  relief. 

Josephine    followed     her    out.      "Beware,    my    lady-like 

Tartuffe  !"  hissed  she,  sneering  in  baffled  malignity.     "You  arc 

mixing  yourself  up  in  a  scrape  which  will  not  reflect  much 

credit  upon  the  elect." 

Her  fiendish  laugh  was  echoing  after  her,  as  Ida  gained  the 
parlor. 

Mr.  Ashlin  did  not  appear  abashed  or  disappointed,  upon 
receipt  of  the  apologies.  He  bowed,  with  a  civil  regret,  and 
25 


290  ALONE. 

seemed  to  forget  that  there  were  other  ladies  in  the  house  or  in 
the  world,  than  the  one  he  was  entertaining. 

Ida's  disagreeable  oppression  returned  once,  at  his  smile,  when, 
in  reply  to  his  inquiry,  she  stated  that  the  portrait  in  the  niche 
spposite  him,  was  Mr.  Read's. 

He  got  up  to  inspect  it.  To  Ida,  he  was  measuring  himself 
with  it,  as  he  straightened  his  Apollo  figure,  and  expanded  his 
full  chest. 

"A  good  painting!"  he  observed.  "How  long  since  it  was 
taken  ?" 

«  Two  years." 

"  The  pencil  of  time  is  the  best  test  of  the  value  of  a  picture 
— to  some  it  is  a  destroyer, — it  beautifies  others.  An  excellent 
piece  of  work  !" — still  scanning  it.  "  Is  the  likeness  correct  ?" 

"Uncommonly — or  was,  when  it  was  painted.  Mr.  Read 
looks  older  and  thinner  now,  that  his  health  is  impaired." 

Again  that  sinister  smile  !   but  he  said  nothing  more. 

He  called  again,  with  a  friend,  an  habitul  of  the  house.  It 
was  evening,  and  Mrs.  Read  saw  them.  The  length  of  his  stay 
in  Richmond  was  indefinite ; — they  were  not  sure  but  each  visit 
was  his  last ;  and  he,  keeping  up  the  uncertainly,  came  fre- 
quently, at  the  hours  which  suited  him  best.  Josephine, 
succumbing  seemingly,  to  the  power  of  his  wizard  wand,  freely 
declared  her  dread  of  his  departure;  Ida  felt  as  much  when 
with  him,  and  revoked  it,  secretly,  as  soon  as  her  eyes  recovered 
from  their  dazzlement.  Mrs.  Read  treated  him,  as  she  did  her 
other  visitors,  and  bore  no  part  in  the  chorus  of  laudations 
chaunted  in  his  absence.  When  Mr.  Read  was  well  enough  to 
see  company,  he  fell  an  easy  conquest  to  the  arts  of  the  inimita- 
ble stranger.  "He  was" — he  protested,  "a  better  doctor  than 
Ballard.  An  hour  of  his  society  was  more  beneficial  to  him,  than 
the  apothecary's  entire  stock  of  drugs." 

His  birth-day  was  near  at  hand,  and  he  determined  to  invito 
his  friends  to  rejoice  with  him,  at  his  partial  restoration  to 
health.  It  was  to  be  an  unostentatious  afiair — a  dinner,  and  no 
ladies  but  those  belonging  to  the  family.  Mr.  Read  was  as 
impatient  as  a  child  at  its  first  tea-party. 

"They  are  late,  Helen!  they  are  not  coming!"  he  said  every 
few  minutes,  while  they  were  awaiting  the  guests.  He  was 


ALONE.  291 

working  himself  into  a  passion,  when  the  welcome  ring  appeased 
him. 

"  Mr.  Copeland  !"  called  the  stentorian  lungs  of  the  footman ; 
and  Mrs.  Read  was  as  white,  as  if  the  hand  of  Death  had  smit- 
ten her. 

«  How  are  you  all  ?"  said  Richard,  in  his  joyous,  rattling 
style.  "  Miss  Ross,  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you — Miss  Jose- 
phine, I  will  not  disparage  your  blooming  cheeks  by  asking 
after  your  health, — and  you,  Mr.  Read,  have  been  practicing 
upon  our  fears,  by  stories  of  illness — hasn't  he,  Helen — you  are 
ill !"  he  said,  brought  to  a  full  stop  by  her  pallor. 

"  111 !  you  are  well — are  you  not  ?"  said  Mr.  Read,  in  alarm. 

"  Well  !  yes  !  what  notions  you  have,  Richard  !"  and  the  color 
flowed  back.  «  When  did  you  come  in  ? — down,  I  mean,  and 
how  are  they  at  home  ?" 

"  <  Home'  is  too  bridish  for  a  demure  matron ;  but  they  are 
well,  and  sent  love.  I  arrived  this  morning,  and  should  have 
been  in  before,  but  for  business." 

"  Don't  leave  the  room,  Helen.  Somebody  will  come  while 
you  are  out.  Send  John  for  what  you  want;"  said  Mr.  Read. — 
She  was  slipping  out  through  the  back  parlor. 

"  I  will  be  gone  but  a  second,"  she  answered ;  and  Mr.  Read 
was  still  telling  Richard  how  opportune  his  visit  was  when  she 
returned.  She  was  the  collected,  urbane  hostess,  only  an  eager 
glance  at  each  arrival,  betrayed  nervousness  or  expectation.  Mr. 
Read  watched  the  door,  also ;  and  his  displeasure  at  the  tardi- 
ness of  his  favorite  was  audibly  vented. 

'•Helen  !  why  don't  Mr.  Ashlin  come  ?"  he  said,  in  Ida's  hear- 
ing. Ears  less  acute  would  not  have  distinguished  his  wife's  reply. 

"  Hush  !  these  people  are  jealous  of  your  preference  already. 
He  will  be  here  before  long." 

Ida  had  mislaid  her  handkerchief,  or  not  brought  it  into  the 
room  ;  and  Richard  offered  to  favor  her  retreat  by  a  journey  into 
the  next  room,  to  look  at  some  green-house  plants.  Leaving  him 
bending  over  them,  she  ran  up-stairs,  found  the  missing  article, 
and  was  hurrying  down,  when  a  ring  arrested  her  upon  the 
lower  landing.  Thinking  to  let  the  visitor  enter  before  her,  sh« 
stepped  back  out  of  sight. 


292  A  L  C  N  E  . 

»  Mr.  Ashlin,  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  John ,  « my 
mistress  told  me  to  give  you  this  before  you  went  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, sir." 

Mr.  Ashlin  paused — she  judged,  to  read  a  note. 

"  All  right !"  said  he.  "  Tell  your  mistress,  I  regret  exceed- 
ingly that  I  am  called  into  the  country,  on  account  of  a  friend's 
danger,  and  cannot  comply  with  my  engagement  to  Mr.  Read 
this  evening.  Deliver  the  message  as  I  have  given  it.  This  is 
for  yourself,  John.  Good  day." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.     Good  afternoon." 

Ida's  limbs  shook  beneath  her.  She  had  not  time  to  unravel 
the  mystery — for  mystery  she  knew  it  to  be ; — Mrs.  Read's  fright 
at  her  brother's  entrance ;  her  incoherence  and  exit ;  the  strangely 
worded  message ;  the  bribe  to  the  servant — swam  in  a  chaotic 
medley  through  her  mind.  She  was  sick  with  terror,  until  warned 
to  conceal  her  emotions  by  Richard's  saying  that  "  Helen's 
queer  symptoms  had  become  epidemic."  Partaker  of  the 
alarms  of  guilt,  by  her  knowledge  of  the  sin, — averse  as  she 
was  to  participation  in  its  concealment,  she  was  possessed  with 
tin  idea,  that  to  her  was  committed  the  work  of  blinding  Richard. 
While  her  ears  were  alert  to  every  sentence  uttered  around 
her,  and  she  was  quaking  at  the  least  approach  to  a  mention 
of  the  absentee,  she  aimed  to  monopolize  Mr.  Copeland's  sense 
and  thoughts.  She  anticipated  their  quitting  the  table  as  a 
blessed  change;  then  a  cold  agony  came  over  her,  at  the  remem- 
brance that  the  gentlemen  would  remain.  Discovery,  in  this 
case,  was  inevitable.  His  wife's  caution  would  not  restrain 
Mr.  Read  from  pledging  Mr.  Ashlin's  health.  She  thought  of 
bantering  Richard  into  withdrawing  with  the  ladies ; — it  would 
be  too  bold — too  forward.  He  would  obey,  but  his  respect  for 
her  would  be  diminished; — as  a  final  alternative,  she  must 
venture  it — but  was  there  no  other  ? 

"  Our  patient  does  us  credit,  Miss  Ida."  Her  next  neighbor 
•was  Dr.  Ballard. 

"Does  you  credit,  Doctor.  I  am  only  your  custodian — a 
daring  one,  however,  for  I  have  a  petition  to  submit.  Will 
it  not  be  imprudent  for  Mr.  Read  to  remain  long  at  table,  after 
the  cloth  is  removed?  His  system  is  still  inflammatory." 
Her  conscience  reproved  her  for  the  deception,  although  she 


ALONE.  293 

spoke  the  truth,  but  the  case  was  desperate,  The  doctor's  pro- 
fessional cap  was  on  instantly. 

"  Unquestionably,  my  child ! — unquestionably  !  well  thought 
of,  Miss  Ida  !  We  must  guard  against  a  relapse.  How  shall 
we  get  him  into  the  parlor?" 

Ida  consulted  Richard,  who  referred  the  case  to  Charley  and 
returned  her  the  reply,  that  if  the  ladies  would  delay  their 
departure,  a  little  longer  than  was  customary, — not  to  startle 
those  who  loved  to  tarry  at  the  wine,  he  would  concert  with  most 
of  the  company  to  rise  at  the  same  time.  Charley  was  at  the 
helm,  and  Ida  could  safely  have  slept  upon  her  watch.  Mr.  Read 
demurred  at  an  infringement  upon  banquetting  laws,  but  the 
seceders  gallantly  insisted  upon  attending  their  fair  leaders;  and 
the  most  disaffected  had  not  courage  to  stand  their  ground. 
It  was  a  weary,  weary  evening  to  Ida;  she  looked  and  felt 
wretchedly  ill,  after  the  guests  dispersed.  Richard  looked  in 
again,  after  saying  "  good  night." 

"  I  have  purchased  a  buggy  to-day,'  said  he,  to  Ida ;  "  and  my 
pet  horse  is  in  town.  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  driving  you 
out  in  the  morning?" 

She  assented. 

"  At  what  hour?"  he  asked. 

"  I  wonder  what  has  happened,  that  Ashlin  stayed  away  !" 
said  Mr.  Read. 

Richard  started  violently.  "  Ashlin  !"  he  echoed  with  a  fiery 
look  at  his  sister.  «  Ashlin — Ashlin ;"  he  repeated,  sensible  of 
his  imprudence.  "  I  have  heard  the  name — who  is  he  ?" 

"  An  old  friend  of  your  sister's,"  replied  Josephine. 

Richard's  face  was  profoundly  meditative.  "  A  small  man — 
is  he  not  ?  red-haired,  stoops  in  the  shoulders,  and  wears  spec- 
tacles ?" 

Mr.  Read  spoke  up  indignantly.  «  A  magnificent  fellow !  gen- 
tlemanly, intelligent,  and  one  of  the  best  hearts  in  the  world." 

"I  do  not  know  him  then!"  said  Richard,  emphatically. 
"  Now  I  think  of  it,  the  red  head's  name  may  have  been  Ashton. 
Say  eleven  o'clock," — to  Ida — "  it  will  be  pleasantly  warm 
then." 

"  It  will  suit  me,"  she  rejoined,  trembling  before  his  gaze. 

He  was  punctual  to  the  hour.  Mr.  Read  hobbled  to  the  door 
25* 


294  ALONE. 

to  admire  his  "  turn-out."  To  him,  Richard  was  lively  and 
friendly  as  usual,  but  he  refused  his  sister's  invitation  to  come 
iu,  and  his  bow,  as  his  horse  sprang  off  at  the  loosened  rein,  was 
to  him.  They  left  the  city  by  the  shortest  route.  Beyond  the 
houses,  Richard  slackened  their  headlong  speed. 

"Miss  Ross  !"  he  said,  abruptly  facing  her,  "I  have  classed 
you  among  the  limited  number  of  your  sex,  who  are  upright  and 
truthful.  Within  twelve  hours  past,  I  have  doubted  you.  You 
are  under  no  personal  obligations  to  answer  my  questions ; — but 
as  a  brother — for  the  honor  of  my  family,  I  demand  of  you,  all 
that  you  know  of  this  Ashlin." 

"  Which  is  very  little.  I  never  saw  him  until  Mr.  Cranleigh's 
marriage,  when  he  was  introduced  to  me  at  Mrs.  Morris'." 

«  By  whom  ?  by  Helen  ?" 

"  By  Mrs.  Morris,  herself.  He  made  a  party  call,  and  has 
continued  to  visit  the  house." 

"  Artful  as  ever  !"  he  said,  through  his  shut  teeth.  "Does 
Mrs.  Read  see  him?" 

"Yes;  and  Mr.  Read." 

«  The  old  blinkard  !  Does  Helen  receive  him  as  your  friend, 
or  as  hers?" 

"As  the  friend  of  the  family." 

"  Tush  !  I  might  commend  your  diplomacy,  Miss  Ross,  if  1 
were  not  so  thoroughly  in  earnest.  It  is  clear  you  will  not 
advance  a  step,  without  knowing  why  you  are  questioned. 
Having  more  confidence  in  you,  than  you  have  in  me,  I  will  set 
you  an  example  of  candor  Ashlin  and  my  sister  were  betrothed 
when  he  was  at  college.  We  were  "  chums."  He  is  ardent — 
generous  in  some  of  his  impulses,  but  as  I  perceived,  even  with 
my  boyishly  irregular  notions,  lax  in  principle.  Helen  was  not 
ignorant  of  my  opinion,  and  with  a  woman's  faith  and  persever. 
ance,  set  herself  to  break  it  down.  You  do  not  know  her  as  she 
was  then — high-spirited,  proud  and  passionate,  but  tractable  as 
a  child  to  the  voice  of  affection.  Her  will  was  more  ungovernable 
than  mine,  and  she  almost  reconciled  me  to  her  choice.  He  had 
just  completed  his  course  at  the  University,  when  the  death 
of  an  uncle  put  him  in  possession  of  a  valuable  estate  in  Cuba. 
The  marriage,  which  was  to  have  taken  place  immediately,  was 
postponed  for  twelve'  months.  Meantime,  he  was  to  visit  his 


ALONE.  295 

property,  and  prepare  for  a  permanent  residence  in  the  West 
Indies.  The  year  elapsed — he  did  not  return — and  suddenly 
his  letters  were  suspended.  Helen  was  insanely  trustful;  he 
might  be  ill  or  dead — dying,  or  in  the  grave,  he  was  true !  Her 
romantic  independent  disposition  led  her  to  the  formation  of  a 
mad  project — to  search  for  him  in  person,  since  she  could  learn 
nothing  in  any  other  way.  I  could  not  dissuade  her; — she  made 
but  one  concession, — that  I  might  accompany  her.  The  object 
and  direction  of  our  expedition  was  known  only  to  ourselves. 
We  were  ready — a  day  before  that  fixed  for  starting,  a  letter 
came!  He  was  enamored  of  an  Italian  cantatrice;  'designed 
marrying  her,  if  Helen  would  liberate  him ; — if  not,  he  would 
redeem  his  early  pledge  to  her.'  She  was  ill  for  weeks ;  and 
upon  what,  I  believed  was  her  death-bed,  she  extorted  from  me 
a  vow  not  to  revenge  her.  She  '  should  have  foreseen  how  it 
would  end/  she  said,  l  blind,  confiding  dupe,  that  she  was  !'  She 
arose — a  hardened,  I  think,  sometimes,  a  heartless  woman  of  the 
world : — with  her  trust  in  him,  had  perished  her  faith  in  Gud 
and  man ;  an  unfeminine  panting  for  wealth  and  distinction, 
filling  its  place.  Chance  threw  this  gold-fish,  Head,  in  her  net; 
and  she  clutched  him.  I  had  sorrowed  for,  and  commiserated 
her  until  then ;  but  so  sordid,  so  wickedly  weak  was  this  act, 
that  I  reproached  her  angrily.  I  said  it  sprang  from  wounded 
vanity,  and  a  mean  desire  to  glitter,  a  hollow-hearted,  tinselled 
doll  in  the  view  of  those  who  would  gibe,  while  pretending  to 
applaud ; — that  her  conduct  was  as  degrading  to  her,  as  morti- 
fying to  us, — and  she  bore  my  vituperations,  without  attempting 
to  defend  herself,  <  Hichard  !'  she  said,  when  I  had  exhausted 
my  indignation,  e  better  reason  with  a  tornado,  than  a  slighted 
woman !' 

"You  regard  me  as  a  chattering  coxcomb,  Miss  Ida;  but  I 
solemnly  declare  that  I  could  have  gone  to  the  block  more 
resignedly,  than  I  saw  my  beautiful  sister  sold  to  her  hoary 
bridegroom.  These  were  circumstances,  with  which  I  could  not 
cope — but  the  diabolical  schemes  of  this  assassin  of  her  peace 
shall  nofr  mature  !  This  is  the  sad  tale — is  it  quite  new  to  you  ?" 

"  In  its  details;"  and  she  related  Celestia's  version. 

"  Which  furnished  you  with  a  key — you  have  a  clear  head, 
and  a  woman's  wit — have  you  found  no  locks  that  it  fitted  ?" 


!:»'•  ALONE 

No  reply. 

"  Did  you  divine  the  cause  of  Helen's  embarrassment  at  my 
appearance,  yesterday  ?" 

<•'  Not  at  the  time." 

"  But  afterwards.  He  was  invited — did  she  warn  him  of  my 
bjing  there?  If  so,  do  not  say  it.  I  can  bear  your  silence 
bitter  than  the  truth." 

"I  can  neither  deny  nor  assert,  Mr.  Copeland.  I  have 
imagined  many  dreadful  things,  which  may  have  no  real  exist- 
ence. You  may  judge  for  yourself." 

His  brow  was  lighter,  when  he  had  heard  her  unvarnished 
relation. 

"  I  thank  you !"  said  he,  heartily.  "  "We  may  cicatrize  this 
wound  yet.  I  will  see  Helen  to-night;  she  expects  a  reproof; 
and  if  she  is  not  what  she  appears, — refined  steel — I  will  make 
her  feel.  I  dare  not  meet  Ashlin — but  I  will  write — and  if 
be  crosses  my  path  again — ."  He  resumed  in  a  milder  tone, 
"I  would  crave  one  more  proof  of  your  good-will,  but  that  I  fear 
a  refusal." 
'  «  Ask  it." 

"  If  he  renews  his  visits,  will  you  inform  me  ?" 
"  No,  sir !  said  Ida,  positively.     "The  service  savors  too  mucl 
of  espionage." 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  see  it  in  that  light.  Miss  Read,"  he 
continued,  scornfully,  "  would  require  no  persuasion  to  play  the 
spy.  I  was  near  committing  myself  last  night.  His  name  was  a 
galvanic  shock." 

"  I  cannot  but  hope,"  said  Ida,  "  that  our  fears  have  mag- 
nified shadows  into  spectres.  We  are  so  prone  to  shape  events 
after  the  fashion  of  our  inclinations  or  forebodjngg.  Do  not 
consider  it  an  impertinent  liberty,  Mr.  Copeland,  if  I  recom- 
mend to  you  to  be  very  gentle  in  your  reprehension  of  your 
sister.  Callous,  self-dependent  in  semblance,  think  what  her 
sufferings  are,  empaled  by  memory  and  conscience.  Oh  !  if  we 
had  more  charity  for  the  tempted  !" 

"  Temptation,  sin,  suffering  !  how  naturally  the  words  succeed 
cuch  other  !"  mused  Richard. 

"  And  they  are  an  epitome  of  all  human  woe,"  said  Ida 


ALONE.  297 

"  It  is  a  doctrine  of  mine,  that  a  small  proportion  of  the  great 
aggregate  of  crime  is  committed  from  actual  love  of  sin." 

She  was  gratified  at  his  demeanor  towards  his  sister  upon 
their  return.  He  dined  with  them,  and  was  markedly  attentive 
to  her,  combining  so  much  brotherly  kindness  with  a  certain 
deference  to  her  wishes  and  sentiments,  that  she  struggled  with 
the  softness  which  menaced  her  proud  composure.  As  they 
quitted  the  table,  he  passed  his  arm  around  her  waist,  and  there 
were  tears  in  the  eyes  upraised  to  his.  No  more  auspicious 
time  could  occur  for  the  contemplated  conversation ;  and  Ida 
enticed  Mr.  Read  into  his  reading  room,  by  the  lure  of  an  uncut 
periodical.  The  words  fell  from  her  mouth  mechanically — her 
mind  was  upon  the  momentous  interview.  In  the  character 
and  life  delineated  by  Richard,  she  traced,  with  a  thrill,  a 
similarity  to  her  own ;  the  impetuous  temper — unmanageable, 
save  when  the  breath  of  love  sighed  over  the  heart;  the  blasted 
hope;  the  unworthiness  of  the  object  of  adoration — ah  !  this 
bitterest  ingredient  in  the  cup  of  despair  was  spared  her  !  but 
the  prostration  of  soul  and  body ;  then  the  heaven-threatening 
billows  of  blasphemous  misanthropy,  and  self-abandonment — the 
parallel  was  just  here — to  diverge  how  widely  in  the  result  of 
the  ordeal !  one,  wilfully  completing  the  ruin  of  her  happiness 
by  perjury — cauterizing  her  heart  with  corrodents,  that  eat 
away  its  fevered  life  ;  the  other,  dragging  herself,  wounded  and 
weary,  to  the  feet  of  the  Good  Physician,  to  be  healed,  and  fed, 
and  sustained  by  His  loving  mercy;  and  the  language  of  Ida's 
thanksgiving  was,  "  Lord  !  Thou  hast  made  me  to  differ !" 


298  ALONE. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE  season  of  sunshine  and  roses  had  come,  and  Carry's 
demands  for  her  friend's  society  were  importunate. 

"  You  would  not  fret  your  dear  heart  with  harrowing  doubts 
of  my  love  for  you  and  Poplar-grove,  if  you  could  peep  in  upon 
me  this  morning,"  wrote  Ida.  "  Mr.  Read  is  worse.  I  am 
unfamiliar  with  the  diagnosis  of  this  malady ;  but  I  fear  his 
condition  is  very  precarious.  He  is  entirely  disabled ;  cannot 
lift  his  hand  to  his  mouth  without  extreme  pain,  and  his  nervous 
system  is  much  deranged.  I  write  now  at  the  window  farthest 
distant  from  his  bed,  and  cautiously,  that  the  scratching  of  my 
pen  may  not  disturb  him.  I  can  see  your  hands  and  eyes  go 
up,  and  hear  the  <  this  is  too  much  !'  which  signals  the  last 
throe  of  expiring  patience  as  you  picture  me  a  nun-like  figure, 
with  serge  gown  and  close  cap ;  or  more  affecting,  an  attenuated 
damsel,  such  as  we  see  upon  tomb-stones,  pressing  a  handkerchief 
to  one  eye  j  I  imagine  your  multitudinous  arguments,  each  un- 
answerable in  its  excellence,  and  which  I  know  by  heart.  You 
allege  that  he  is  not  entitled  to  my  cares,  inasmuch  as  there 
are  no  ties  of  blood  between  us;  that  he  has  never  done  me  an 
ungrudged  favor ;  that  he  is  greedy  and  thankless  for  my 
services ;  that  his  wife  and  daughter  should  esteem  it  their 
duty  and  pleasure  to  tend  him  ;  and  fifthly  and  lastly,  that 
it  is  wrong  to  endanger  my  health,  as  your  whimsical  country 
doctors  will  have  it  I  am  doing.  Putting  the  last  first, — 
reassure  yourself  my  dear — I  am  well.  I  do  not  prevaricate  to 
allay  your  fears ;  I  look  well,  eat  well,  and  sleep  well,  and  I 
may  dismiss  the  remainder  of  your  objections  in  one  sentence — 
I  am  doing  my  duty,  Carry  !  I  am  morally  certain  of  this, 
more  certain,  than  if  you  were  my  charge ;  for  my  love  would 
be  the  mainspring  of  action  then.  I  am  upheld  by  the  assur- 
ance, that  I  am  fulfilling,  in  my  humble  way,  the  command,  our 
Saviour  appointed  as  the  touchstone  of  piety  to  the  end  of 
time — <  Do  good  to  them  that  hate  you,  pray  for  them  that 


ALONE.  299 

despitefully  use  you/     I  thank  Him  that  He  has  vouchsafed 
to  me  this  opportunity  to  examine  myself  by  this  criterion." 

The  sufferer  moaned,  and  she  laid  down  her  pen.  "  You  have 
had  a  refreshing  sleep,  have  you  not,  sir?" 

"  No  1  there  is  no  ease  for  me.  Why  is  that  window  open  ? 
It  does  seem  that  you  all  have  conspired  that  I  shall  die, 
whether  or  no.  Where  is  Helen  ?" 

"  She  was  here  awhile  ago,  and  will  be  in  again  soon.'' 

"  Is  she  in  the  house?" 
-  "  I  do  not  know,  sir.     Let  me  get  what  you  want/' 

»  I  want  her  !" 

She  was  not  at  home,  and  Ida  renewed  her  offer. 

"  Gone  out,  hey  !"  he  rambled  on,  peevishly.  «  How  she 
walks  !  as  if  the  ground  were  not  good  enough  for  her  feet ! 
ogling  and  coquetting !  and  I  am  here  !"  with  an  oath.  "  Where 
is  Josephine  ?" 

"  Down  stairs,  sir/' 

«  What  is  she  about  ?" 

«  Anna  Talbot  is  with  her." 

'<  More  folly  and  vanity !  ringlets  and  ribbons,  and  bonnets 
and  beaux!  The  world  is  peopled  with  knaves  and  fools — 
women  are  knaves — men  fools.  You  are  a  mixture." 

Ida  suppressed  a  smile.  "  Your  lips  are  dry,"  she  said  "  here 
is  water." 

He  drank  it.  «  You  are  !"  he  went  on,  obstinately,  "I  hated 
you  from  the  minute  you  entered  this  house,  and  you  repaid  me 
with  compound  interest.  Here  you  are,  sitting  up  at  night; 
waiting  on  me  all  day.  I  can't  do  without  you,  because  you 
are  handy  and  wakeful,  but  I  don't  like  you.  Do  you  hear?" 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  don't !  and  therefore,  I'm  a  fool  to  tolerate  the  sight  of 
you.  I'm  a  fool — that's  proved !  You  are  spoiling  your  eyes 
and  complexion,  and  losing  the  time  you  might  be  catching  a 
husband — mewed  up  here.  You  expect  to  be  paid  when  my 
will  is  read — that's  knavery — hypocritical  knavery.  I  haven't 
left  you  a  red  cent  j  you  are  a  fool  to  think  of  it,  and  that's 
proved  I" 

Pitiful  driveller !  It  was  not  insensibility,  but  compassion, 
that  closed  Ida's  mouth,  although  she  knew  this  was  the  revela- 


300 


ALONE. 


tion  of  the  inner  chamber  of  thought,  now  that  the  veil  of 
custom  and  policy  was  rent  in  twain. 

"What  time  is  it?" 

<{  Twelve  o'clock,  sir." 

"  That's  a  lie  !  it's  three,  at  least !  Bring  the  watch  to  me. 
It  has  stopped  !  Hold  it  to  ray  ear — you've  put  it  back  !  Lay 
it  clown  by  me  !  I  don't  trust  you  again  !" 

The  hands  pointed  to  one  when  Mrs.  Read  appeared, 

"  Well,  madam !"  the  form  of  each  tooth  was  seen  through 
the  thin  lips,  stretched  over  them  like  yellow  parchment.  "And 
where  have  you  been  traipsing  ?" 

«  I  walked  down  the  street." 

"  And  on  Main  street,  too,  I'll  swear !  spending  more  money 
than  you'd  sell  for  at  auction !  Why  don't  you  answer  me  ? 
Your  tongue  was  more  glib  when  you  were  passing  compliments 
with  that  fellow  who  walked  with  you." 

"  I  went  out  alone,  and  did  not  go  on  Main  street." 

"  You  would  have  been  better  employed  in  the  kitchen — 
forever  gadding  !  I  don't  want  you  in  here — I'm  sick  of  you  and 
your  brazen  face  !" 

"What  error  to  suppose  that  sickness  softens,  and  predisposes 
the  heart  to  repentance !"  thought  Ida.  She  went  into  the 
other  room,  and  beckoned  Mrs.  Read.  "  The  doctor  was  here 
this  morning,"  she  said  ;  "  and  told  me,  privately,  not  to  mind 
his  irritability,  nor  to  answer  him,  unless  silence  increased  it. 
It  is  an  ordinary  symptom  in  neuralgic  affections.  We  must  be 
forbearing." 

"  There  is  a  limit  to  everything,"  was  Mrs.  Read's  response. 

"  True — but  forbearance  should  last  as  long  as  the  pain  we 
would  cure." 

"  That  is  your  theory,  Miss  Ida.  I  am  tired  of  the  practice. 
You  mean  well,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  I  am  not  a  fit  object  for 
your  charity." 

The  asperity  was  pointed  at  herself,  rather  than  at  her  hearer, 
and  Ida  pondered  upon  her  words  and  manner,  often  durino- 
the  day. 

"  It  did  not  agree  with"  Josephine  <c  to  sit  up" — a  constitu- 
tional weakness,  loudly  lamented,  and  encouraged,  instead  of 
overcome.  Ida  and  Mrs.  Read  divided  the  vigil  j  the  mulatto 


ALONE.  301 

nurse,  Sarah,  sleeping  in  the  apartment.  Ida  was  to  watch  the 
latter  part  of  the  night.  The  patient  was  cross  and  restless, 
when  she  looked  in  upon  him  at  bed-time — railing,  and  swearing 
and  abusive. 

"You  want  me  dead!"  he  said  to  his  wife;  "but  I  won't 
die — to  spite  you.  I  shall  live  years,  and  years,  and  years,  'till 
you  are  a  toothless  hag,  and  walk  with  a  crutch  !  Ha  !  ha  I" 

"  He  is  delirious !"  whispered  Ida.     «  Let  me  stay  with  you  !" 

"  He  is  not!  I  prefer  your  retiring.  Sarah  will  call  you  at 
two." 

"  I  shall  not  undress,  to-night,  Kachel,"  said  Ida.  "  I  have 
a  presentiment.  I  shall  be  wanted." 

"Is  he  much  worse?" 

"  No — but  I  may  be  called  up.  I  shall  sleep  here,  upon  the 
lounge." 

But  sleep  was  coy  to  her  wooing.  If  she  had  ever  felt  fear, 
she  would  have  known  that  she  was  scared  and  excited.  The 
south  wind  generally  affected  her  unpleasantly,  creating  heat 
and  nervousness  j  but  to-night  the  breeze  was  from  the  north, 
and  the  moonbeams  were  spread  in  broad,  white  sheets  upon 
the  floor.  "I  must  be  sick  !"  she  said,  aloud.  " I  cannot  ascribe 
this  numb  horror  to  anything  else.  They  have  a  superstition 
that  it  is  a  precursor  of  death."  Her  mind  rejected  this  expla- 
nation, but  the  utterance  of  that  word  had  populated  her  soul 
with  phantoms.  Lynn's  chill,  damp  hands  again  enfolded  hers; 
and  his  glazed,  upward  look — still  and  fixed,  moved  not  at  hei 
weeping;  the  clods  rattled  upon  the  coffin — frozen  clods!  and  how 
warmly  soever  the  sun  smiled  upon  the  swelling  turf — down  where 
he  slept,  it  was  frosty  night  still !  Must  he,  the  loved  and  gifted, 
rest  there  forever  ?  would  a  tender  mother's  arms  never  more 
embrace  her, — the  dear  lips,  now  turned  to  dust,  never  cling  to 
hers,  in  speechless  fondness?  But  the  dead  should  rise!  some  to 
the  resurrection  of  the  just,  some  to  everlasting  shame  and  con- 
tempt.  Oh  !  the  unspeakable  woe  of  a  hopeless  death  !  the  dying 
strife  of  the  finally  impenitent !  Was  his  end  approaching  ?  "  My 
God  !  avert  from  him  this  doom  !"  His  room  was  beneath  hers. 
She  could  hear  occasionally  a  groan,  which  she  knew  was  an 
execration.  He  might  be  dying.  She  thrust  her  feet  into  a 
pair  of  felted  slippers,  and  descended  to-  his  door.  "  Quiet- 
SB 


302 


ALONE. 


quiet  as  death!"  "This  is  improper!  irrational'"  said  she, 
severely,  to  herself.  "  T  need  repose  and  steadiness  of  nerve — 
there  are  watchers  with  him."  But  she  would  not  go  back  to 
her  room.  She  went,  instead,  to  the  parlor.  The  hall-lamp 
burned  all  night;  and  setting  open  a  door,  and  unclosing  a 
shutter,  to  dissipate  the  darkness,  which  suffocated  her,  as  a 
thick  pall,  she  stretched  herself  upon  a  sofa.  She  slumbered 
and  dreamed — visions,  like  her  waking  fancies.  She  was  in  Mr. 
Head's  chamber;  writing  to  Carry,  at  her  far  window; — the 
door  swung  back,  and  his  wife  glided  in.  With  a  gesture  of 
silence  to  her,  she  passed  to  his  bedside,  and  poised  a  knife  above 
his  heart !  Ida  strove  to  scream — to  move — but  her  mighty 
efforts  only  shifted  the  scene — did  not  awaken  her.  He  was 
dead ;  and  his  friends  had  ccme  to  the  funeral.  They  thronged 
the  room  where  his  corpse  lay  in  its  costly  coffin;  and  the 
carriages,  headed  by  the  hearse,  grated  upon  the  pebbled  gutter. 
The  undertaker  was  tightening  the  silver  screws — when,  oh ! 
horror !.  the  lid  was  heaved  up  from  within — crashing  and 
splintering — and  the  dead  sat  upright !  The  distorted  features 
were  Mr.  Ashlin's, — the  yell,  as  he  tossed  his  arms  aloft, — Mr. 
Read's.  "  I  will  not  die !"  She  was  in  the  centre  of  the  apart- 
ment; the  cold  beads  dripping  from  her  forehead,  and  her  hair, 
dank  and  heavy,  upon  her  face  and  neck.  She  put  it  back,  and 
listened.  The  silence  drove  by  her  in  waves — throbbed  with 
the  beatings  of  her  heart.  Hark  !  it  was  not  all  a  dream ! 
the  pawing  of  hoofs  rang  upon  the  stones.  The  moon  had  set; 
and  the  lamp  was  brighter  than  the  starlight.  She  had  the 
presence  of  mind  to  creep  to  that  side  of  the  window  hidden  by 
the  shutter,  and  looked  out.  A  carriage  was  at  the  door — in 
appearance  like  the  doctor's.  He  had  been  summoned — the 
sick  man  was  worse.  Something  light  and  white  sailed  past  her 
window,  from  overhead;  as  it  fluttered  to  the  ground,  a  tall 
figun  stepped  from  the  vehicle,  and  caught  it  to  his  bosom. 
The  apparition  of  the  Arch-Fiend  himself  would  not  have 
shaken  Ida,  as  did  that  manly  form.  She  was  awake  I  A 
stealing  step  fell,  softly  as  a  snow-flake,  upon  the  floor  above- — 
she  heard  it.  With  the  speed  of  .light,  she  flew  to  the  front 
door — locked  it — to  that  at  the  other  extremity  of  the  passage 
—hid  both  keys  beneath  the  cushion  of  the  hall-sofa,  and  back 


ALONE.  303 

igain  to  the  street  entrance,  as  Mrs.  Read,  dressed  for  travelling, 
lad  her  foot  upon  the  lowest  stair.  The  fugitive  leaned  against 
he  wall  for  support,  faint  with  the  terrors  of  detected  guilt. 

"  Back  !"  said  Ida — her  cheek  bloodless — her  eyes  flashing  liv- 
ng  fire.  "  False  to  your  word  !  false  to  your  sex  !  I  will  save 
pu  from  public  disgrace  !  Back  !  I  say  I" 

"  Not  while  I  live  !"  was  the  answer. 

"  And  you  cross  this  threshold  over  my  body  I"  cried  the  girl, 
passionately.  "  Oh  !  shame  !  shame  !  you — the  pride  and  idol 
of  your  family  and  your  husband !  that  you  should  break  their 
hearts  and  disgrace  his  name  !" 

"  It  is  not  my  name  after  I  leave  this — I  shall  forget  and  be 
forgotten.  Let  me  go  I" 

"  Forget !  forgotten  !  you  may  !  a  false  woman  can  forget  the 
mother  who  reared  her !  but  the  stain  upon  them !  your  tears, 
nor  his  blood  can  cleanse  it !" 

"  You  are  mad !"  said  Mrs.  Read,  regaining  her  composure. 
"  You  cannot  stop  me.  My  home  is  in  another  land.  Why 
do  you  talk  of  disgrace  ?  the  brutal  dotard  I  fly  from,  will  unfas- 
ten my  legal  fetters,  and  then  I  shall  live !  the  life  for  which 
my  Creator  destined  me  I" 

«  You  speak  your  Creator's  name !  trampling  upon  His  laws 
— His  curse  hanging  over  you!  Oh!  I  entreat  you,  by  a 
mother's  prayers — for  the  sake  of  your  old  father,  tottering 
upon  the  verge  of  the  grave — in  the  name  of  your  honorable 
and  loving  brother,  not  to  expose  your  design !  You  shall 
not — you  cannot  goj  the  doors  are  locked — call  for  assistance 
from  those  who  are  without,  and  I  will  alarm  the  household. 
To-morrow  your  name  will  be  trumpeted  at  the  corner  of  evuy 
street.  Ha  !  that  cry  !  they  have  discovered  all !  Too  late  ! 
too  late  !  but  no ! — "  She  tore  off  the  cloak  and  bonnet,  and 
threw  them  into  a  corner,  as  Sarah  rushed  down  the  steps. 

"  Mistress !  Miss  Ida !  for  the  Lord's  sake,  come  !  Master  ia 
dying!" 

A  cry  from  Josephine  pierced  their  ears.  Ida  forgot  her 
companion,  but  she  reached  the  chamber  with  her.  Writhing, 
convulsed,  screaming,  he  was  wrestling  with  the  Destroyer; 
the  disease  had  grappled  his  heart.  Mrs.  Read  sank  upon  her 
knees,  as  blasted  by  a  thunderbolt ;  Josephine  shrieked  in  help- 


304  ALONE. 

less  dismay;  Ida  was  wrought  up  to  too  high  a  pitch,  to  think 
of  self. 

"  Where  is  John  ?"  she  cried.  "  Here  !  run  for  Dr.  Ballard  ! 
Mr.  Read  is  very  ill !  Call  for  Mr.  Talbot  as  you  come  back. 
Fly  1" 

He  was  down  stairs  while  she  was  speaking.  "  Why,  Misa 
Ida,  the  key  is  not  here  I" 

She  ran  for  it,  unlocked  the  door,  and  pushed  him  out.  A 
man  stood  in  the  shade  of  the  porch,  whom  John  did  not  per- 
ceive, in  his  rapid  egress ;  but  he  seized  Ida's  hand,  as  she  would 
have  shut  him  out. 

"  Helen !" 

"  Mrs.  Read's  husband  is  dying,  Mr.  Ashlin  !" 

"  Good  heavens  !" 

The  bolt  had  shot  into  its  place,  ere  he  could  say  more. 

All  the  accompaniments  of  the  last  agony,  of  which  Ida  had 
ever  heard,  read  or  conceived,  were  realized  in  this  struggle; — 
the  blackening  features,  drenched  with  sweat,  the  starting  eye, 
the  twitching  muscles,  the  death-rattle, — the  soul  was  tearing 
through  the  clay  receptacle  :  yet  for  two  hours  the  awful  conflict 
was  protracted. 

Morning!  a  sheet  covered  the  rigid,  motionless  limbs  and 
countenance,  telling  in  death,  of  suffering ;  and  there  were  solemn 
stoppings  and  stifled  whispers  through  the  house;  and  crape 
waved  from  the  door,  where  the  traitorous  friend  had  waited,  at 
night,  for  the  dead  man's  wife. 

Mrs.  Read  was  borne  to  her  chamber  in  hysteric  convul- 
sions, and  continued  raving  and  swooning  all  day — attacking, 
in  tigress  fury,  every  one  who  approached  her,  excepting  Ida. 
Her  she  would  not  suffer  to  quit  her  sight.  Holding  her 
hands  in  a  frantic  grasp,  she  poured  forth  such  iales  as  made 
her  heart  ache  :  of  warm  Spring  evenings,  when  the  air  was 
laden  with  sweet-briar  scent,  and  the  young  moon  was  swimming 
in  the  pale  blue  sky,  and  the  star  of  love  shone  upon  them — 
an  eye  of  light — from  the  blushing  west,  and  he  sung  to 
her — poetry  ascending  from  his  heart  as  perfume  from  the 
flowers — songs,  upon  whose  memory  she  lived,  in  the  winter  of 
his  absence.  "But" — and  the  deep  wells  of  her  eyes  were 
black  with  anguish,  "  her  heart  died,  and  dissolution  came  not 


ALONE.  305 

to  the  body — would  that  it  had  1  and  the  thought  of  the  past 
was  a  yawning  abyss,  like  the  abode  of  the  lost,  from  which 
arose  hot,  poisonous  simooms  and  tormenting  spirits.  The  world 
brought  incense  and  gaudy  offerings,  and  friends  their  best  trea- 
sures, but  it  closed  not — and  she  resolved,  by  self-immolation, 
to  shut  the  chasm ;  by  an  irrevocable  sacrifice,  to  seal  it  forever. 
The  effort  was  idle — she  sold  soul  and  body  for  nought.  He 
came,  and  turned  her  face  to  the  Future.  His  heart  had 
wavered,  but  returned  to  its  allegiance.  She  was  his,  by  an 
earlier,  holier  tie  than  her  loathed  tyrant's; — away  in  the  sunny 
land  of  their  youthful  dreams,  they  would  live,  unmolested  by 
memory  or  care.  She  clung  to  duty,  until  her  husband  drove 
her  from  him  with  a  curse ;  to  a  brother's  love, — and  he  painted 
that  brother's  hatred  of  him,  and  threatened  to  see  her  no 
more; — and  by  the  specious  names  of  "soul-dictates,"  and 
the  "  religion  which  enjoins  truth,  and  condemns  hypocrisy," 
gained  her  promise.  The  hand  of  the  Almighty  interfered  ! 

Ida  shut  up  her  tears,  and  reasoned  and  plead  with  her; 
praying  inwardly  for  her  comfort,  and  that  her  own  mind  and 
nerves  might  not  fail  her.  She  rested  the  maniac's  head  upon 
her  breast — bathed  the  beating  temples,  and  pressed  her  cool 
lips  to  the  parched  ones,  working  with  pain — beseeching  her, 
with  every  endearing  epithet,  to  rest  and  forget.  But  the  lava 
crust  was  heaving ;  and  the  long-repressed  flood  spread  over 
it  in  fast,  seething  streams.  The  June  twilight  was  on  the 
earth — as  she  had  described  those  of  years  agone ;  and  in  calming 
tones,  she  bade  Ida  "  sing." 

"What  shall  I  sing?" 

"  Of  love  and  faith  and  hope." 

The  exhausted  girl  rallied  her  strength,  and  the  sweetest  of 
written  hymns  seemed  whispered  to  her  spirit. 

"  'Oh  !  Thou,  who  driest  the  mourner's  tear, 

How  dark  this  world  would  be, 
If  pierced  by  sins  and  sorrows  here, 
We  could  not  fly  to  Thee ! 

'The  friends,  who  in  our  sunshine  lire, 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown; 

And  he,  who  has  but  tears  to  gve, 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 

26* 


306  ALONE. 

'But  Thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart, 

Which,  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  partr— 

Breathes  sweetness  out'  of  woe. 

'When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers, 

And  e'en  the  hope  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears, 

Is  dimmed  and  vanished  too; — 

'Oh  !  who  could  bear  life's  stormy  doom, 

Did  not  thy  wing  of  love, 
Come,  brightly  waiting  through  the  gloom, 

Our  peace-branch  from  above  ! 

Then  sorrow,  touched  by  Thee,  grows  bright, 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray, 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light   • 
We  never  saw  by  day.' " 

The  head  weighed  upon  her  arm,  she  did  not  withdraw  it. 
Scarcely  breathing  herself,  she  listened  to  the  regular  respiration, 
that  said  the  distempered  brain  was  locked  in  forgetfulness. 
One — two — three  hours — and  a  cold  lifelessness  succeeded  to 
the  smart  and  aching  suspended  circulation  had  first  produced, 
a  torpor,  creeping  to  her  shoulder — affecting  her  whole  body; 
but  she  would  not  terminate  that  blessed  slumber.  A  fleet  step 
ascended  the  stairs, — it  did  not  belong  to  any  of  the  household, 
yet  was  not  strange.  A  knock — which  she  could  not  answer — 
the  bolt  was  cautiously  drawn. 

"  Helen  !"  said  her  brother's  voice. 

The  "  hush-sh-sh  I"  silenced  him,  but  he  entered.  The  moon 
revealed  the  dark  and  white  forms  upon  the  bed. 

"Your  sister  sleeps!"  said  Ida,  under  her  breath.  "I  beg 
you  to  retire — she  must  not  see  you.  Oh  !  go  I"  for  she  was 
awaking. 

"  Ida !"  said  Mrs.  Read ;  "  what  am  I  doing  here  ?  Oh  !  mercy ! 
I  remember !" 

«  Peace  !  peace  I"  and  with  gentle  violence,  Ida  forced  her 
back  to  the  pillow.  «  You  are  safe  and  well  now." 

She  was  still  for  a  minute.  "  Whom  were  you  speaking  to 
when  I  awoke  ?" 

"  Some  one  opened  the  door,  and  I  did  not  wish  you  dis- 
turbed." 

"  It  was  a  servant,  then  ?  I  dreamed  Richard  had  come.  Oh  ! 
if  he  should  I" 


ALONE.  807 

*  Do  you  want  us  to  send  for  him  ?" 

"  Never  1" 

"  But  the  fatigue  of  travelling  rapidly  over  so  great  a  distance 
will  be  too  much  for  your  parents.  Some  of  your  friends  ought 
to  be  with  you." 

"  But  not  Richard  !  any  one  else  !" 

Ida  was  perplexed.  He  would  insist  upon  seeing  her,  as 
soon  as  he  heard  that  she  was  awake ; — they  must  meet  in  the 
morning,  and  the  shock  then  might  unfit  her  to  endure  the 
trials  of  the  day;  yet  to  tell  her  now,  appeared  cruel  and 
unnecessary 

"You  have  not  eaten  to-day — you  will  take  some  nourishment 
if  I  bring  it  ?" 

"  Don't  leave  me  !" 

"  Only  for  a  little  while.  Promise  me  to  be  good  and  quiet, 
until  I  can  run  down  stairs  and  back." 

"  Only  do  not  stay — I  am  afraid  to  be  alone." 

Richard  was  pacing  the  hall  with  a  troubled  air.  "How  is 
she  ?"  he  asked. 

"  More  composed." 

"  May  I  go  up  ?" 

"  It  pains  me  to  deny  you,  but  she  can  see  no  one,  at  pre- 
sent." 

"  This  is  extraordinary,  Miss  Ida.  We  know  that  there  is  not 
ground  for  this  excessive  grief,  and  Helen  has  not  miss-ish 
nerves.  What  ails  her?" 

His  frown  commanded  her  to  reply,  explicitly. 

"You  do  not  reflect  how  sudden  Mr.  Read's  death  was,  Mr. 
Copeland.  It  was  an  alarming  event  to  us  all.  After  awhile, 
your  siste*  will  receive  you.  She  does  not  know  that  you  are 
here ; — h  ,r  mind  has  wandered  all  day ;  and  I  deemed  it  safest 
not  to  agitate  her.  Trust  me  to  do  all  in  my  power  for  her  and 
you." 

« I  do  !" 

Mrs.  Read  remained  comparatively  tranquil,  saying  little, 
except  to  supplicate  Ida  not  to  leave  her. 

«  You  are  better — are  you  not  ?"  inquired  the  latter,  stroking 
her  bro*r. 

«  Y   — easier,  and  more  quiet." 


308  ALONE. 

"  I  find  your  brother  has  been  sent  fo: ;"  she  pursued 

"  He  has  come  !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Read.  "  Oh  !  what  shall 
[do?  what  shall  I  do?" 

"  It  is  unavoidable  ; — you  must  meet — why  delay  it  ?" 

"  Oh  !  he  will  kill  him  !  he  said  he  would,  if  he  ever  spoke 
to  me  again  I" 

More  perplexity  !  Ida  staggered  under  it.  Her  ingenuousness 
pointed  to  the  straightest,  as  the  best  road.  The  guilty  mind 
would  never  be  unburdened  without  confession  j  but  there  was 
solid  rock,  underlying  the  foamy  flow  of  Richard's  character. 
When  his  distrust  of  Ashlin  did  not  amount  to  a  defined  con- 
viction, he  had  said,  that  he  "dared  not  see  him" — and  she 
recalled  his  meaning, — "If  he  crosses  my  path  again!"  The 
dilemma  was  fearful — a  life  of  concealment  to  one,  murder  to 
the  other.  Mrs.  Read's  consternation  redoubled  on  perceiving 
hers.  "What  shall  I  do?  oh!  if  I  could  die!"  she  moaned, 
tossing  from  side  to  side.  Ida  spoke  in  accents  of  command 
— representing  the  unhappiness  she  would  experience  in  her 
intercourse  with  her  deceived  brother ;  the  watchfulness,  and 
subterfuges,  and  the  misery  of  accepting  a  love  she  had  for- 
feited ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  the  remorse  of  the  murderess ; 
the  blood  of  another  soul  clogging  hers ;  the  public  ignominy — 
but  this  was  barely  touched  upon. 

"Yet  sin  unconfessed  to  man,  is  not  always  unrepented  of  to 
God ;"  said  she. 

"  Can  you  resign  this  base-hearted  man,  and  devote  your  life 
to  an  endeavor  to  repair — you  cannot  of  yourself,  expiate  your 
offences  against  your  Maker  and  your  fellow  creatures  ?"  And 
the  haughty,  harden-  1  woman  bent  before  the  simple  majesty 
of  truth  and  feeling,  .n  1  solemnly  vowed  herself  ready  for  her 
work. 


ALONE.  309 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

RICHARD  was  to  tako  his  sister  home ;  and  Ida  was  busily 
assisting  her  to  pack  her  trunks,  the  day  after  the  funeral,  when 
Josephine  sent  to  request  an  audience.  She  ordered  the  ser- 
vants out  of  the  room  as  she  came  in,  and  without  preamble, 
entered  upon  her  subject. 

"  You  two  have  been  confederates  in  many  amusing  schemes. 
Wedded  spirits  at  sight,  you  flattered  yourselves  that  you  coun- 
terfeited indifference  successfully.  But  not  to  me — my  fair 
intriguers !  You,  Miss  Ross,  were  wilfully  imprudent.  I  foiled 
your  manoeuvres  to  entrap  Morton  Lacy,  the  man  you  loved  j — 
you  owe  the  disappointment,  from  which  you  will  never  recover, 
to  me.  You  were  unwary  to  oppose  me  a  second  time.  And 
for  you — lovely  and  inconsolable  widow  !  your  downfall  was 
decreed  from  the  moment  we  met.  I  poisoned  that  old  man's 
mind^against  you.  He  weakly  tried  to  repel  doubt — to  confide 
— the  fool !  in  your  love — but  the  venom  was  subtle — certain  ! 
/  overheard  your  first  interview  with  your  recreant  lover — 
marked,  step  by  step,  your  reconciliation,  and  furthered  it  when 
I  could  : — /  saw  your  trepidation  when  your  brother's  arrival 
menaced  an  expost;  and  compelled  John  afterwards  to  a  con- 
fession of  the  warning  he  transmitted,  and  the  reply,  '  on 
account  of  a  friend's  danger !'  That  '  friend'  is  in  imminent 
danger  now !  The  cessation  of  his  visits  did  not  mislead  her, 
who  dogged  you  in  your  walks,  and  saw  him  by  your  side.  1 
was  awake  the  elopement  night, — saw  your  signal,  and  heard 
the  theatrical  dialogue  in  the  hall,  rehearsed  for  the  benefit 
of  eaves-droppers,  to  clear  the  skirts  of  your  accomplice,  when 
your  flight  should  be  discovered.  Pah !  a  child  could  see  through 
it !  a  remarkable  coincidence  that  Miss  Ross  should  select  a  par- 
lor for  a  dormitory,  and  arouse,  just  in  season  to  confront  you  at 
the  door  !  It  was  a  scene, — as  the  play-bills  have  it — '  for  one 
night  only.'  Your  plan  proved  abortive ;  death  has  left  you  as 
free  as  a  divorce  would  have  done;  and  when  the  'days  of 
mourning  are  ended,'  you  think  to  marry,  and  the  public  be  in 


310  ALONE. 

blissful  ignorance  that  this  measure  was  in  contemplation  before 
your  husband's  decease.  Idiot!  is  this  the  revenge  I  have 
worked  for  ?  Your  swain  is  yet  in  town  ; — act  out  your  plot. 
You  need  not  go  to  Cuba — the  laws  of  Virginia  do  not  forbid 
the  bans.  If,  however,  your  saint-like  confidante  reprobates 
<  indecent  haste/  my  game  is  nevertheless  sure.  I  give  you  to- 
day and  to-night  for  deliberation  and  escape.  At  ttie  end  of 
twenty-four  hours,  if  you  are  in  this  house,  your  hot-blooded 
brother  shall  hear  the  interesting  facts,  of  which  I  have  pre- 
sented a  summary; — I  have  spoken,  and  I  never  repent!" 

Her  auditors  had  not  moved  hand  or  foot,  since  she  began  to 
speak ;  and  after  she  had  gone,  they  gazed  at  each  other  in  the 
same  dead  silence.  Mrs.  Read's  stony  despair  revived  Ida's 
energies. 

"  I  am  lost  ¥'  she  said,  in  a  hollow  tone.  She  put  by  the 
garment  she  held,  and  seated  herself,  with  folded  arms. 

"  You  are  not !" 

"  She  '  never  repents  !'  " 

"  God  grant  she  may,  before  it  is  too  late  !"  said  Ida,  looking 
upwai'd ;  "  but  I  do  not  rely  upon  her  relentings  for  your  deliver- 
ance. We  must  consider.  Bear  up,  and  remember  your  vow !" 

But  her  own  heart  sank.  Contrivance  and  expedient  presented 
themselves, — all  inadequate  to  the  emergency. 

"  Are  you  willing  to  brave  Richard's  wrath,  if  it  affects  only 
yourself  ?"  she  asked. 

"  I  am  !  to  the  shedding  of  my  blood.  Your  face  brightens  ! 
Is  there  any  hope  ?" 

" Iniquity  defeats  itself!"  said  Ida  devoutly.  «  The  Helper 
of  the  tempted  will  provide  a  means  of  escape.  Have  we  not 
time,  and  the  knowledge  that  he  is  in  the  city,  and  liberty  to 
communicate  with  him?  Write  him  a  warning,  and  a. Jinal 
farewell; — he  must  fly  for  his  life — he  will  do  it !  The  traitor 
is  seldom  brave !"  she  said  inwardly. 

Mrs.  Read's  nerveless  fingers  dropped  the  pen. 

"I  cannot !" 

"  You  must !"  said  Ida,  authoritatively.  "  His  life — your 
peace,  depend  upon  it.  Write  !  I  will  dictate." 

The  note  was  short  and  imperative.  If  the  hand  quivered, 
the  heart  that  indited  did  not. 


ALONE.  311 

"Take  comfort !"  said  Ida,  sealing  it. 

<•'  How  will  you  send  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  Read,  whom  grief  and 
shame  had  robbed  of  mind  and  fortitude. 

"  I  will  carry  it  myself." 

«  Oh  !  not  you  !  what  will  be  aiid  ?" 

"  Trust  me.  If  Josephine  has  emissaries,  so  have  I.  I  will 
not  compromise  myself  or  you.  I  was  cut  out  for  a  conspirator, 
and  to  keep  up  the  character,  you  must  disguise  me.  My 
appearance  on  the  street  so  soon  after  the — yesterday,  will 
excite  remark.  Ah !  this  thick  veil,  and  that  black  mantle, 
will  serve  my  purpose.  Now,  would  you  know  me  ?" 

"  Never — but  dear  Ida — " 

But  repeating  "  Take  comfort  !"  Ida  kissed  her,  and  went 
out.  She  tripped  across  the  'back  yard,  under  shelter  of  the 
buildings,  unlatched  the  gate,  and  was  safely  in  an  alley,  bisect- 
ing the  square,  and  parallel  with  the  street  upon  which  the 
house  was  built.  She  walked  briskly,  thinking  over  her  plan. 
As  in  Lynn's  case,  Charley  was  her  aim;  but  she  was  not 'so 
sure  now  of  his  co-operation.  It  was  a  delicate  and  dangerous 
matter; — would  he  be  a  blind  tool?  confidence  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  With  his  nice  notions  of  propriety,  would  he  take 
a  note  from  her  to  Mr.  Ashlin,  of  whose  character  she  had  heard 
him  speak  disparagingly.  "This  is  foolish!"  she  interrupted 
herself — "  he  must  I"  and  she  was  conscious  that  this  word 
from  her,  carried  with  it  an  authority  few  had  the  hardihood  to 
resist. 

John  Dana  was  in  the  store,  but  he  did  not  know  her,  and 
sent  a  clerk  forward. 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Dana,  sir." 

She  raised  her  veil  as  he  responded  to  the  call. 

"  Ida  !  my  dear  child  !     I  should  never  have  recognised  you  I" 

" I  did  not  design  you  should.  My  errand  is  with  Charley — 
is  he  in  ?" 

"  In  the  counting-room.     What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  With  me  ?  Nothing,  sir; — a  state  secret.  He  is  my  Vizier." 

"  Very  well  I"  said  he,  smiling.  "  Walk  this  way."  He 
pushed  aside  the  baize  door,  and  Ida  thought  she  should  faint, 
as  Richard  Copeland  was  discovered  talking  with  Charley.  John 
also  retreated. 


O  1  •) 

t-'-L"  ALONE. 

"  He  is  not  alone  ;"  he  said,  "  I  will  call  him  out." 

"Not  while  Mr.  Copeland  is  here!"  she  faltered.  "Oh!  I 
would  not  have  him  see  me  I" 

"  Tda  !" 

"  He  must  not  see  me,  Mr.  Dana  !" 

"Then  I  will  hide  you — shall  I  ?"  He  took  her  to  the  end  of 
a  counter,  piled  to  the  ceiling  with  goods;  gave  her  a  tall  stool, 
and  bade  her  "  rest  awhile." 

Ida  was  ashamed  of  her  perturbation,  and  heartsick  of  the 
feints  and  concealments  her  nature  revolted  at; — all  the  conse- 
quences of  another's  errors. 

Charley  and  Kichard  entered  the  store.  "  You  had  better 
say  you  will  go,"  said  the  latter.  "  It  is  insufferably  stupid  ; — 
staying  here  this  weather." 

"I  don't  know  whether  lean  get  off;"  answered  Charley. 
«  We'll  see." 

His  brother  directed  him  to  Ida.  He  was  astonished  to  see 
her. 

'But  you  can  never  be  unwelcome." 
!  Cela  depend ;"  said  Ida,  "  I  sue  for  a  favor." 
'  Consider  it  granted." 
<  That  will  not  do.     Can  you  perform  my  bidding,  without 
asking  questions  ?" 

I  am  not  inquisitive  ;  and  I  depend  upon  your  discretion." 
Then,  will  you  deliver  this  letter  immediately  ?" 

His  countenance  changed.     Ida  lifted  her  finger. 

"I  have  promised,"  he  icplied;  "but  Ida — if  you  were  my 
sister,  I  would  not  be  the  bearer  of  this  !" 

"  Charley !" 

" I  do  not  say  it  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but  I  know  men,  and 
this  man,  better  than  you  do.  This  is  not  your  handwriting. 
My  fear  is  that  you  may  be  tampered  with — not  your  integrity — 
but  that  designing  people  may  impose  upon  your  credulity." 

"  I  thank  you  sincerely  for  your  consideration,  but  I  act  with 
my  eyes  open,  and  conscientiously  believe  that  what  I  demand 
is  actually  necessary.  7  dictated  that  note.  Will  you  oblige 
me  now  ?" 

"  Unhesitatingly." 

"Be  sure  you  give  it,  at  once,  to  him.     I  cannot  explain. 


ALONE.  313 

I  may  never   do  it,  perhaps.     One  thing  more.     Where  does 
Mr.  Copeland  want  you  to  go  ?  and  when  ?" 

"  To  the  country,  to-morrow ;  a  tete-a-tete  drive  out  of  town  ; 
a  dinner  at  a  tavern ;  and  spend  the  day  in  the  woods,  gunning." 

"  Go,  please  !  I  have  a  special  reason  for  asking  it — and 
start  early." 

"  More  mysteries !" 

"  The  last  I  shall  ever  annoy  you  with,  Charley." 

"  Enough  !  if  possible  you  shall  be  obeyed.  I  trust  you,  Ida — 
not  one  of  the  other  parties  concerned.  By  the  way/'  he  added, 
putting  on  his  hat,  "  Lacy  passed  through  the  city  yesterday ; 
stopped  but  an  hour,  and  left  his  regrets  and  respects  for  you. 
He  would  have  called,  but  for  the  circumstances  of  the  family." 

"  I  should  have  been  happy  to  see  him,"  said  Ida,  very  natu- 
rally. «  Was  his  sister  with  him  ?  how  is  her  health  ?" 

"  Not  improved.  They  contemplate  a  sea-voyage.  I  heard 
a  queer  report  about  him  the  other  day."  They  were  at  the 
store-door,  and  Ida  did  not  lower  her  veil,  although  the  light  was 
glaring.  Charley  was  scrutinising  her  from  the  corners  of  his 
eyes,  and  she  was  aware  of  it. 

"  I  don't  credit  it ;"  he  said.  "  They  say  he  is  engaged  to  be 
married  to  Miss  Arnold." 

Ida  smiled.     «  Why  do  you  discredit  it  ?" 

"  Why  I  hear  the  girl  is  a  flirt ;  she  is  pretty,  but  I  don't 
relish  the  match.  Besides,  to  be  frank,  I  had  a  private  opinion 
that—" 

"That  he  was  engaged  to  me!"  finished  Ida,  laughingly. 
"  Your  shrewdness  is  at  fault  for  once,  Charley.  I  have  known 
of  his  engagement  ever  since  last  summer — almost  a  year." 

"  How  did  you  hear  of  it  ?" 

«  From  himself." 

"  All  righ't  then,  I  suppose  ;"  Charley  reluctantly  conceded 
»  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't  believe  it's  all  wrong !"  he  muttered, 
as  he  walked  down  the  street.  Ida  did  not  mutter  or  sigh,  on 
her  way  home.  She  cheered  Mrs.  Read's  drooping  spirits  by 
reporting  their  case  in  excellent  hands,  and  the  happy  Providence 
which  appeared  likely  to  befall  them  in  Richard's  projected 
jaunt.  "  A  day  is  as  precious  to  us,  at  this  juncture,  as  if  ita 
minutes  were  diamonds,"  said  she. 
27 


j!4  ALONE. 

Withdrawing  to  her  chamber,  she  wept  long  and  sadly.  "  If 
[  could  only  have  seen  him  for  one  hour  !  one  minute !  Oh  !  I 
shall  never  be  free — never  forget !  Can  I  censure  poor  Helen, 
when  I  am  myself  so  weak  ?  for  it  is  sin  to  love  him,  the  pro- 
mised husband  of  another !" 

An  hour — and  she  was  with  her  dejected  charge,  busy  and 
cheerful — yet  so  thoughtful,  so  sympathetic,  that  the  repentant 
wanderer  blessed  her  as  a  heavenly  messenger  of  compassion 
and  goodness 

Ida  was  dressing  in  the  morning,  when  she  received  a  note 
from  Charley. 

"  Mr.  A decamped  yesterday   afternoon,  servants   and 

baggage — it  is  said  not  to  revisit  these  parts  shortly.  I  do  not 
know  whether  this  much  discussed  Hegira  is,  in  any  way,  attri- 
butable to  your  billet,  but  write,  in  the  supposition,  that  the  fact 

may  not  be  uninteresting.     Mr.  C and  myself  are  on  the 

point  of  starting  upon  our  ride ; — return  to-night. 

In  haste,  yours, 

CHARLEY." 

Ida  smiled  scornfully.  «  The  caitiff !  I  said  the  false  were 
seldom  brave  !" 

She  sent  the  note  to  Mrs.  Read.  Rachel  brought  up  an 
answer.  "You  are  my  guardian  angel,"  it  said.  "The  God 
you  love  and  serve,  may  reward  you — I  never  can.  I  shall 
spend  this  day  alone.  Richard  must  hear  the  truth,  and  I 
should  be  his  informant — not  that  miserable  girl,  who  would 
gloat  upon  the  sight  of  his  grief  and  amazement.  I  shall  write 
him  everything.  Pray  for  me  !" 

Towards  evening,  Rachel,  as  the  only  trustworthy  bearer,  was 
dispatched  to  Richard's  hotel  with  the  letter.  Mrs.  Read  had 
expended  her  moral  courage  in  the  execution  of  this  mortifying 
duty.  She  passed  a  wretched  night — a  prey  to  agonizing  anti- 
cipations— imagining  Mr.  Ashlin's  return ;  his  being  overtaken ; 
the  death  of  one  or  both ;  Richard's  desertion  of  her,  or  that  her 
family  would  disown  her.  Ida  stayed  with  her,  but  her  condo- 
lences and  sanguine  predictions  were  futile. 

"  You  do  not  know  Richard  \"  was  Mrs.  Read's  invariable 


ALONE.  315 

He  appeared  at  the  hour  for  departure,  and  without  coming  in, 
gent  to  inquire  if  she  was  ready.  Ida  supported  the  half-swoon- 
ing woman  down  stairs.  Richard  was  in  the  porch.  He  saluted 
her  slightly — his  sister,  not  at  all; — his  face  so  gloomy  and 
stern,  Ida  dared  not  accost  him.  Josephine  was  less  timorous, 
or  had  a  stronger  incentive.  She  walked  boldly  to  the  door. 

"Mr.  Copeland,  can -you  spare  me  a  minute  of  your  valuable 
time  ?  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

He  wheeled  upon  her  with  a  withering  sneer.  "  I  am  admon- 
ished of  the  purport  of  your  communication,  Miss  Head,  and  my 
regret  is  only  second  to  yours,  that  the  indulgence  of  your  ami- 
able penchant  for  bloodshed  is  inevitably  postponed  by  the  flight 
of  our  chivalrous  friend.  I  give  you  credit  for  having  acted  in 
perfect  consonance  with  the  finest  feelings  of  your  soul.  Permit 
me  to  express  the  hope  that  the  consummation  we  mutually 
desire,  is  not  very  remote — that  the  "  transgressor  may  be 
rewarded  according  to  his  works ;" — and  while  this  is  the  burden 
of  your  prayers,  I  would  have  you  remember  that  I  shall  put  up 
a  like  petition  with  regard  to  yourself  !" 

Mrs.  Eead  strained  Ida  to  her  breast  silently,  and  the  hot  tears 
fell  fast  upon  her  cheek.  She  tendered  her  hand  to  Josephine. 
It  was  disdainfully  rejected. 

"  Farewell,  Mr.  Copeland  j"  said  Ida,  holding  out  her  hand. 

He  clasped  it,  and  inclined  his  head,  as  in  adoration.  "  It  is 
well,"  he  said,  in  an  tinder  tone,  "  that  I  have  met  you.  You 
have  preserved  me  from  total  abnegation  of  female  truth. 
Thank  heaven  that  you  have  but  a  physical  resemblance  to  your 
sex!"  He  closed  the  carriage-door  upon  his  weeping  sister, 
mounted  his  horse,  bowed  to  his  saddle-bow  to  the  wave  of  Ida's 
handkerchief,  and  galloped  off. 

Anna  Talbot  was  to  stay  with  Josephine  until  the  necessary 
legal  formalities  should  leave  her  free  to  select  a  home;  and 
Mrs.  Dana  claimed  Ida.  She  needed  rest  and  nursing.  This 
week  of  agitation  and  wearing  fatigue,  was  the  forerunner  of  a 
fever,  which  might  have  resulted  fatally,  had  she  retained  her 
old  quarters.  There  was  nothing  at  Mr.  Dana's  to  quicken 
memory  into  action  upon  unpleasant  subjects;  no  darkened 
chambers,  or  everburning  tapers ;  no  hurryings  from  room  to 
room,  with  the  suppressed  bustle,  that  indicated  a  renewal  of 


316  ALONE. 

the  patient's  sufferings.  These  were  sights  and  sounds  painfully 
familiar  to  her  of  late.  She  lay  in  an  airy  apartment ;  the  light 
tempered,  not  excluded;  with  books  and  flowers,  and  if  she 
wished,  the  happy  children  to  amuse  her ;  and  when  she  started 
from  sleep,  with  a  groan  or  shriek  sounding  through  her  head, 
her  eye  fell  upon  the  placid  face  of  her  hostess,  smiling  tenderly 
to  dispel  her  alarms  j  or  Elle's  cherry  mouth  said,  in  the  flute- 
like  accents,  so  like  her  aunt's,  "  You're  just  dreaming,  cousin 
Ida  I"  She  left  her  bed,  but  her  tottering  steps  would  not  bear 
her  far ;  and  John  Dana  carried  her  in  his  strong  arms  every 
evening  to  the  parlor,  where  was  Charley,  disposing,  with  the 
skill  of  an  accomplished  nurse,  the  pillows  that  heaped  her  sofa. 
She  was  thankful  for  the  debility  that  made  her  the  recipient  of 
these  tokens  of  true  affection.  They  loved  her ;  she  no  more 
doubted  this,  than  she  questioned  her  attachment  to  ihem.  One 
day  she  appeared  thoughtful,  and  Mrs.  Dana  remarked  upon  it 
in  private  to  her  coadjutors.  She  was  afraid  it  arose  from  some 
saddening  reminiscence,  or  mistrust  of  the  future ;  "  Charley 
must  enliven  her."  And  Charley,  if  he  did  not  bring  mirth, 
eliminated  the  caged  troubler. 

She  " had  heard,"  she  said,  " that  the  law  required  her  to 
choose  a  guardian." 

"  True ;"  said  Charley. 

"  Is  there  any  specified  time  ?  has  it  expired  ?" 

"A  month  hence  will  do;  although  Miss  Read  has  made  her 
choice. " 

"Ah!  whom?" 

"Mr.  Talbot,  the  elder.  Easy  soul!  he  has  not  a  thought  of 
the  pickle  he  is  in." 

Ida  was  more  serious.  "Will  you  say  the  same  of  my 
selected  protector." 

"  Probably — you  being  afac-simile  of  her." 

"  May  I  choose  whom  I  please  ?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"Will  it  be  a  very  troublesome  office?" 

"  Hum-m-m !  I  should  say  not.  Some  care — some  respon- 
sibility— that  is  a  mere  song,  though,  as  your  schooling  is  done, 
and  you 'are  a  moderately  discreet  young  lady." 


ALONE.  317 

"  Will  you  ask  your  brother  to  act  ?  I  prefer  him  above  all 
other  men  in  the  universe." 

"Why  not  do  it  yourself?  he  will  not  object." 

"  He  might  be  influenced  by  my  anxiety,  and  assume  the 
task  because  it  will  make  me  happy — I  want  him  to  make  an 
unprejudiced  decision." 

"  I  will  look  him  up ;"  said  Charley. 

They  re-entered  together ;  and  John  bowed  his  tall  form  to 
kiss  the  flushing  cheek.  "  You  will  not  seem  more  like  a  daugh- 
ter, when  you  are  my  ward,  than  you  do  now,  Ida." 


27* 


318  ALONE. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

IT  was  chinquapen  season;  and  a  grove  of  "bushes"  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  Poplar-grove  plantation  resounded  with  the 
jocund  voices  of  a  nutting  party.  The  green  beards  rolled  back 
their  white  lips,  in  a  smile,  saying  as  plainly  as  smile  could  say, 
for  the  shining  brown  treasures — "  Come  and  take  us  !"  As  a 
loaded  upper  limb  was  roughly  shaken,  and  screams  of  laughter 
and  pretended  fright  arose  from  the  group,  upon  whose  heads  the 
hurtling  shower  descended,  our  friend  Charley  might  be  seen, 
sauntering  away,  in  suspicious  unconcern  ; — Ellen  Morris  was 
weaving  her  gay-coloured  meshes  around  Mr.  Euston's  susceptible 
heart,  and  Mary  Truman,  with  Charley,  as  aid,  was  pioneer  to  a 
dozen  children  of  assorted  sizes.  One  couple  had  strayed  to  the 
edge  of  the  grove,  where,  from  the  brow  of  a  hill,  they  over, 
looked  a  wide  expanse  of  landscape.  The  lady,  whose  bloom  was 
heightened  by  exercise,  or  some  other  cause,  was  profoundly 
occupied  in  sifting  chinquapens — taken,  a  handful  at  a  time, 
from  her  basket — into  the  same  again.  Her  cavalier  was  speak- 
ing low  and  impressively 

"  You  cannot  argue  indifference  from  my  delay.  I  was  ready 
for  this  declaration  a  year  ago ;  but  you  were  not ;  and  while  I 
left  you  in  no  doubt  as  to  my  intentions,  I  wished  you  to  have 
ample  time  and  opportunity  for  making  up  your  mind.  I  have 
not  the  vanity  to  hope  to  allure  by  personal  attractions  or  showy 
qualities ',  but  if  the  disinterested  love  of  a  manly  heart  can  win 
your  regard,  I  may  trust  that  my  offering  will  not  be  scorned. 
I  visited  you  last  winter,  and  saw  that  you  were  not  happily 
situated.  A  more  hasty  lover  would  have  spoken  then : — I  would 
not  have  your  discontent  with  one  home,  influence  your  decision 
in  my  offer  of  another — would  not  have  you  self-deceived ;  for 
your  happiness  is  dearer  to  me  than  mine.  But  now,  you 
are  translated  to  a  sphere,  in  which  you  are  appreciated  and 
beloved,  your-  will  is  untrammelled  by  the  restrictions  of  a  stern 
guardian-^-free  to  move,  without  the  goad  of  desire  to  escape  a 
disagreeable  lot.  I  have  been  very  patient,  Miss  Ida." 


ALONE.  319 

He  had — and  she  knew  nothing  of  him  but  what  was  gene- 
rous and  honourable.  His  persevering  attachment  was  guaranty 
of  its  depth.  Pleasant  as  her  life  was  now,  the  death  of  her 
guardian,  or  his  widower-hood — (she  thought  of  such  chances,  in 
these  days  of  death  and  change — )  would  cast  her  out  upon  the 
world — alone  and  homeless  as  before.  She  had  all  the  woman's 
longing  to  be  paramount  in  one  heart, — the  sun  and  attraction 
of  a  home.  She  could  give  her  suitor  but  a  sisterly  regard,  at 
present;  but  she  had  been  told  that  this  culminated  in  a  calm 
affection,  lasting  through  life — mighty  in  death.  The  passionate 
idolatry  of  earlier  days  was  conquered  by  religion ; — she  believed 
that  it  had  subsided  into  friendship ; —  its  hopelessness  impelled 
her  to  forget  it — how  more  effectually  than  in  another  love  ?  Her 
colour  fled,  as  it  ever  did,  before  powerful  emotion,  and  the 
fingers,  while  they  went  on,  burying  themselves  in  the  glossy 
brown  heap,  were  icy  cold.  She  must  reply — she  looked  up — 
not  in  the  intelligent  face — handsome  in  its  pure  fervor  of  devo- 
tion— but  beyond — to  where  the  blue  sweep  of  the  hills  lay, 
graceful  and  light,  against  the  rosy  horizon;  and  she  gazed,  until 
her  dark  eyes  were  dilated  and  moveless,  and  her  companion, 
struck  by  their  expression,  looked  to  the  same  spot.  He  saw 
but  the  hills,  and  the  heavens,  spanning  them  in  crimson 
glory — she  verily  thought,  as  she  stood,  rooted  to  the  earth,  in 
the  dumb  agony  of  memory,  and  recoiling  at  the  fate,  her  tongue 
had  almost  sealed, — that  she  beheld — as  if  the  folds  of  that 
glowing  canopy  were  drawn  aside — the  form  and  features  of  her 
first — what  she  knew  now,  was  to  be  her  only  love ! — that  look- 
ing back,  from  whatever  height  in  life,  she  should  see  the 
remembered  lineaments  distinct,  unaltered,  stamped  upon  that 
part  of  the  Past  he  had  made  radiant. 

"Ida!  do  you  never  mean  to  marry?"  inquired  Charley,  that 
night. 

"  You  gentleman  say  every  girl  will  as  soon  as  she  has  a  good 
offer;"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"Germaine  is  not  an  (  eligible'  then  ?" 

"  Who  said  anything  about  him  ?" 

"I  did.  I  am  unable,  by  any  system  of  ratiocination  with 
which  I  am  acquainted,  to  establish  why  a  sensible,  fancy-free 


320  ALONE. 

lady  should  refuse  a  man,  who  is  unexceptionable   in  morals, ' 
behaviour,  education,  appearance  and  prospects." 

"What  an  array  of  recommendations!  what  evidence  have 
you  that  I  have  committed  this  egregious  folly  ?" 

"  Your  quibblings — if  nothing  else.  Deign  to  enlighten  me 
as  to  motive — the  act  being  granted.  Why  did  you  discard  him  ?" 

"Because  I  did  not  love  him,  Charley."' 

"  That  is  to  the  point !  now — why  didn't  you  love  him?' 

"  Because  I  could  not." 

"Not  so  good.     Why  couldn't  you ?" 

"  Impertinent !  is  love  made  to  order  ?  As  with  a  soda  fount, 
have  you  but  to  twist  a  screw  in  the  heart,  and  it  bubbles  up  for 
any  <  unexceptionable,'  who  prays  for  it  in  a  flowery  speech  ?" 

"  Jumping  the  question  again  !  What  is  your  ideal  husband 
like?" 

"He  must  be  my  master!"  said  Ida.  "  Mr.  G-ermaine  is  kind 
and  excellent — intelligent  and  gentlemanly;  but  my  will  would 
never  yield  to  his.  He  would  say — 'Shall  I?'  and  'will  you?' 
in  matters  where  his  interests,  no  less  than  mine,  were  involved. 
My  ideal  says,  gently,  but  decidedly — <  /think' — <  I  will  ?'  " 

"  So  our  friend  may  ascribe  his  ill-success  to  his  lack  of  Blue- 
Beardishness  !  Oh,  woman  !  thy  name  is  caprice  !" 

Ida  had  scanty  faith  in  the  reality  of  his  wonder,  but  most 
of  that  expressed  was  genuine.  "  Such  a  fine  young  man !  well- 
to-do  in  the  world,  and  she  so  unprotected  !"  Carry  had  built 
many  castles  in  the  air,  upon  Ida's  presupposed  acceptance  of 
her  neighbor,  and  expostulated  with  her. 

"  Better  a  lonely,  than  a  miserable  life,  dear  Carry ;"  wag 
the  reply.  "  I  have  my  Bible  to  direct  me, — my  Heavenly 
Father  to  lean  upon.  While  I  obey  Him,  He  will  not  leave 
me  friendless.  As  to  the  obloquy  of  old-maidism,  I  do  not 
dread  it." 

At  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  the  town  Danas  returned  home,  and 
Ida  slipped  into  her  place  in  the  family,  as  though  she  had 
always  constituted  a  part  of  it.  The  time  winged  happily  and 
uneventfully  along  until  Christmas.  Dr.  Carleton,  Arthur  and 
Carry  were  with  them  then,  and  another  visitor,  Ida's  name- 
sake, and  the  miraculous  prodigy  of  Poplar-grove; — a  lovely 
babe,  four  months  old ;  with  its  father's  hazel  eyes,  and  the 


ALONE.  321 

transparent    skin,  and    bright    flossy  curls    of    its    beautiful 
mother. 

On  New  Year's  eve,  the  older  members  of  both  families  col- 
lected in  the  parlor,  to  greet  the  commencement  of  the  new 
cycle.  Ida  occupied  an  ottoman,  between  her  guardian  and 
Charley  ;  chatting,  with  girlish  vivacity,  to  the  latter.  Mrs. 
Dana  was  in  the  opposite  corner,  in  the  shadow  of  the  mantel, 
conversing  with  her  father ;  but  her  voice  shook  at  times,  and 
her  eyes  wandered  constantly  to  her  young  friend.  Ida  did  not 
notice  this,  nor  the  sadness  that  tinged  her  guardian's  fatherly 
look,  as  he  smoothed  her  chestnut  hair  for  a  long  time,  musingly. 
She  did  not  suspect  he  was  thinking  of  her.  He  smiled,  as  she 
threw  up  her  eyes  to  his  face,  and  rested  her  head  against  the 
arm  of  his  chair;  but  it  was  a  fleeting  light — the  uncertain 
enjoyment  of  a  pleasure,  whose  loss  one  anticipates.  Finally  he 
spoke. 

"  Ida !  will  you  give  your  attention  for  a  minute  ?" 
"  For  an  hour,  if  you  wish  it,  sir.  I  am  all  ear." 
"  You  must  be  mouth,  too — for  there  are  questions  for  you  to 
answer.  Yesterday,  in  examining  certain  papers  of  Mr.  Read's, 
pertaining  to  the  guardianship,  I  found  a  packet  of  letters, 
mostly  from  your  mother — some  from  Mr.  Grant,  and  one  of 
yours — written  after  your  illness  at  Sunnybank.  You  say 
therein,  that  it  was  your  mother's  wish  for  you  to  take  her 
place,  as  mistress  of  the  establishment  there,  so  soon,  as  in  his 
judgment,  you  should  be  possessed  of  the  ability;  that  there 
were  plans  laid  off,  but  unfinished  by  her,  whose  completion  she 
bequeathed  to  you; — and  you  enclose  a  schedule,  which  sur- 
prised me  by  the  sound  sense  and  foresight  displayed  in  its 
provisions  and  items.  You  conclude  by  declaring  your  prepos- 
sessions for  a  country  life,  and  the  binding  character  of  the  duty, 
which  you  conceived  was' -resting  upon  you.  I  referred  to  your 
mother's  letters.  It  is  not  for  us  to  censure  the  dead,  but  it  is 
amazing  how  Mr.  Read  could  have  slighted  the  desire,  virtually 
conveyed  in  every  one  of  them,  viz.  :  that  it  should  be  optional 
with  you,  at  what  time  after  you  had  attained  the  age  of  eighteen, 
and  remained  single,  you  should  return  to  a  home,  to  which,  she 
was  assured  conscience  and  affection  would  alike  attract  you. 
She  describes  your  strength  of  mind  and  purpose,  when  a  child, 


322  ALONE. 

as  remarkable  ;  and  says  that  she  would  not  fear  to  entrust  to 
you,  the  execution  of  any  directions  concerning  the  business  she 
then  superintended.  My  course  is  too  plainly  laid  down  for  me 
to  deliberate  or  waver.  In  a  year,  you  will  be  of  age;  your 
judgment  is  as  ripe  now,  as  it  will  be  then  ;  you  are  competent 
to  control  yourself,  and  your  subordinates.  It  is  for  you  to  say 
whether  you  still  consider  it  obligatory  upon  you,  to  anticipate 
your  legal  majority." 

There  was  a  blank  silence.  Mrs.  Dana  alone,  was  not  sur- 
prised, and  she  had  most  pending  upon  the  verdict.  Ida  hid 
her  face  upon  her  guardian's  arm. 

"I  would  not  trouble  you  needlessly,  dear  child;"  he  said, 
passing  his  hand  over  her  dark  locks ;  "  else  I  would  tell  you 
how  dear  you  were  to  us,  before  you  lived  with  us ; — how  doubly 
dear  you  are  now.  If  personal  feeling  were  the  arbiter  in  this 
case,  I  would  never  have  .made  the  statement  you  have  heard  to- 
night ;  and  Jenny  has  not  spoken,  because  foreseeing  that  her 
affection  might  outrun  her  discretion,  I  exacted  a  promise  ot 
non-interference.  Your  home  is  here,  dear  Ida,  as  long  as  you 
choose  to  make  us  happy  by  your  presence.  I  repeat — the  deci- 
sion rests  with  you." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  say.  Determine  for  me,  dear  Mr. 
Dana." 

"I  may  not,  my  child." 

"Carry  !  Charley  !  what  ought  I  to  do?" 

Charley  shook  his  head ;  but  Carry  was  not  so  prudent.  "  Oh ! 
Ida  !  your  going  will  break  sister's  heart ;  a  year  cannot  make 
much  difference." 

"If  it  is  my  duty  at  all,  it  is  now,  as  much  as  then — is  it 
not?"  asked  Ida,  of  Charley. 

"  I  am  afraid  so ;"  said  he,  seriously. 

"  Charley  !  how  can  you  !"  exclaimed  Carry.  "  One  would 
think  you  were  willing  to  lose  her !  You  are  young,  Ida — there 
is  no  necessity  for  burying  yourself  alive,  yet." 

"Have  a  care,  Carry!  John  is  right — she  must  decide;"  cau- 
tioned Arthur. 

"One  question,  Ida,"  said  Charley,  kindly.  "You  have 
revolved  this  issue  often  in  your  mind,  even  since  you  have  been 
with  us — have  you  not  ?" 


ALONE.  323 

"Yes." 

"  You  said,  a  year  ago,  you  felt  bound  to  fulfil  your  mother's 
wishes,  and  that  your  inclinations  leaned  the  same  way — how  is 
it  now  ?  There  is  the  case  in  a  nut-shell." 

"  One  hard  to  crack,  nevertheless ;"  said  Ida,  with  glistening 
eyes.  "  I  love  Sunnybank,  and  I  have  had  misgivings  that  the 
indulgence  I  meet  here,  may  spoil  me  for  the  active,  self-denying 
life  I  must  lead ; — for  I  have  always  looked  forward  to  a  resi- 
dence there,  some  time  or  other; — but  I  am  so  happy  here. 
Still,  Mr.  Dana,  I  have  a  vast  deal  of  surplus  energy  which  ought 
to  be  employed.  I  am  not  working  with  all  my  might.  Does 
this  sound  ungrateful  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it  I"  struck  in  Charley's  assuring  tones.  "  It 
is  not  that  you  love  Caesar  less,  but  Rome  more." 

"  But  it  is  so  far  I"  objected  Carry, — "  and  so  out-of-the-way. 
Suppose  you  fall  sick !  0,  brother  John !  it  is  heartless  to 
send  her  off  by  herself  !" 

"  She  shall  not  go  by  herself,  Carry.  If  she  concludes  to 
leave  us,  it  must  not  be  before  Spring ;  then  Jenny  and  I  will 
go  with  her.  If  she  is  convinced,  upon  trial,  that  she  is  inade- 
quate to  the  enterprise,  or  dislikes  it,  we  shall  be  too  glad  to 
have  her  back.  Grant  is  a  respectable  man,  and  an  intelligent 
farmer ;  and  she  must  secure  a  companion.  You  mentioned  his 
sister-in-law,  I  think,  Ida  ?" 

"As  to  the  distance,"  said  Charley,  "If  those  snail-like 
fellows  continue  the  railroad,  as  they  say  they  will —  it  will  pass 
within  six  miles  of  Sunnybank." 

This  was  a  ray  of  comfort ;  yet  Mrs.  Dana  burst  into  tears, 
and  Carry  threw  her  arms  around  Ida,  sobbing  bitterly,  as  she 
"  feared  she  ought  to  go." 

"Carry!  Jenny!  you  must  not!"  said  Charley.  "  She  has 
done  her  duty — and  should  be  encouraged.  You  are  borrowing 
trouble  upon  interest.  Who  can  tell  what  may  happen  before 
Spring?  An  earthquake,  or  the  end  of  the  world  may  stamp 
< Finis'  upon  sublunary  things,  and  you'll  be  ashamed  of  your- 
selves for  having  anticipated  evil." 

He  succeeded  in  calling  up  a  smile,  and  Carry  unintentionally 
effected  a  further  diversion.  "  Oh,  Ida  !"  she  sighed.  "If 
you  had  married  Mr.  Germaine  !" 


32-4 


ALONE 


"  I  am  happier  as  it  is,  Carry." 

"  I  move  a  postponement  of  the  subject,  sine  die j"  said 
Charley.  "  We  must  welcome  in  the  year  with  a  song.  Come 
to  the  piano,  Carry.  Ida,  Arthur — come  !  we  want  a  quartette." 

They  learned  to  speak  of  the  coming  separation  with  compo- 
sure; but  its  shadow  was  upon  all  hearts,  longer  and  blacker  as 
the  time  drew  nearer.  Ida  sometimes  debated  with  herself 
whether  she  could  be  called  to  sever  a  relationship  which  had 
taken  such  hold  of  her  inmost  soul.  She  was  not  supine  or 
useless;  for  the  love  a  Christian's  virtues  gain,  is  indirectly 
leading  men  to  the  Saviour;  and  every  day  she  could  animate 
some  drooping  spirit,  or  alleviate  some  woe,  were  it  only  a 
child's.  Yet  she  was  not  performing  labors  commensurate  with 
her  talents  and  energies ;  she  was  upon  the  circumference  of  the 
wheel ; — Nature  designed  her  for  the  centre  and  motive  power. 
There  was  a  satisfaction  in  having  the  matter  settled.  She 
had  not  the  courage  to  introduce  it  herself;  but  her  guardian's 
straight-forward  summing-up  and  appeal  had  convinced  her,  and 
the  rest  of  his  hearers.  A  scheme,  so  uncommon,  had  opposers 
and  despisera  in  abundance.  Some  honestly  lamented  her 
departure ;  and  many  more  insinuated  at  "  family  disagree- 
ments" and  "  high-spirited  young  ladies."  She  was  "  Quixotic" 
and  "masculine,"  said  others,  boldly;  and  there  were  benevolent 
friends  who  thought  it  a  pity  so  much  eloquence  should  be 
wasted  and  carried  faithful  reports  to  the  cause  of  the  commo- 
tion. Among  the  busiest  in  promulgating  scandal,  was  Jose- 
phine Read,  until  she  was  taught  caution  by  a  scathing  rebuke 
from  Charley,  inflicted  publicly,  in  response  to  a  sneer,  not 
meant  for  his  ears;  and  of  the  opposite  party,  Ellen  Morris' 
unobtrusive  grief  affected  Ida  sadly.  They  seldom  spoke  of 
Lynn ;  but  there  was  a  tacit  understanding  that  his  memory 
was  the  bond  of  their  intimacy.  Outwardly,  Ellen  was  the 
same — only  Ida  knew  that  the  spontaneity  of  her  gaiety  was  no 
more,  and  that  the  most  brilliant  jets  were  forced  up  by  a 
pressure,  that  would  have  destroyed  the  spring  of  most  hearts. 
On  the  second  anniversary  of  Lynn's  death,  she  came  to  invite 
Ida  to  a  walk — showing  a  bouquet  of  spring  flowers  concealed 
in  her  veil.  Divining  their  destination,  Ida  turned  their  steps, 
of  her  own  accord,  to  the  cemetery  The  spring  was  forward; 


ALONE.  325 

so  it  had  been  the  year  he  died ;  but  its  young  blossoms  were 
killed  by  the  frost  and  snow  which  should  have  belonged  to 
winter — and  he  perished  with  them  !  The  turf  was  green;  the 
evergreen  rose,  creeping  over  the  headstone,  was  full  of  glossy 
leaves  and  the  violets  upon  his  breast  were  budding.  The  girls 
knelt  on  either  side  of  the  grave ;  trimmed  away  the  dead  twigs 
of  the  rose,  plucked  the  sere  leaves  of  the  violet,  and  clipped  the 
ragged  grass — talking  softly,  as  over  a  sleeping  babe.  Besides 
themselves,  there  were  no  visitors  in  the  grounds;  and  having 
deposited  their  offering  upon  the  mound,  they  sat  down.  Ellen's 
arm  was  encircling  Ida's  waist,  while  one  of  the  latter' s  rested 
on  the  grave. 

"  I  may  not  do  that,"  said  Ellen,  mournfully.  «  Although 
when  it  rains  or  snows  at  night,  I  weep  to  think  how  it  beats 
upon  him,  and  pine  to  shelter  him  with  my  arms, — when  I  am 
here — and  I  come  often,  Ida — secretly !  I  see  him  dead — perhaps 
murdered  by  me — and  I  no  more  dare  embrace  that  clay,  as  you 
are  doing,  than  the  murderer  would  touch  the  body  of  his 
victim,  lest  it  should  bleed  afresh." 

"  This  is  morbid  regret,  Ellen.  I  was  his  sister  and  confidante. 
You  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  death ;  if  you  had  never  parted, 
the  disease  might  have  assailed  him.  The  blight  upon  your  heart 
is  deadly  enough,  without  increasing  it  by  unmerited  self-re- 
proach. Everything  is  so  calm  and  sweet  here,  this  afternoon, 
and  I  have  such  a  consoling  surety  that  he  is  happy !  The 
spirits  of  the  loved  return  to  earth — are  hovering  about  us — 
present,  although  unseen.  He  may  be  with  us." 

"'Do  they  love  there  still ?'  "  said  Ellen. 

"  They  do — with  a  love  purged  from  selfishness  and  doubt- 
ings — perfect — pure  !  Oh  !  Ellen  !  the  bliss  and  holiness  of 
Heaven !  why  do  we  love  this  world  so  well  ?" 

"  They  are  loveless  alike  to  me ;  I  have  no  hope  or  rest  in 
either.  When  he  was  here,  I  loved  this  earth,  because  he  was 
upon  it;  its  charm  has  gone — and  can  I  thank,  or  revere  Him 
who  bereaved  me  ?" 

"  My  dear  girl !   He  smites  to  heal.    In  my  short  life,  I  have 

studied  His  providences  sufficiently  to  teach  me  that  it  is  the 

wise  Physician,  as  well  as  the  Father,  who   takes  away  our 

hurtful  delights,  and  rives  our  hearts.     He  waits  now,  Ellen, 

28 


326  ALONE. 

to  infuse  life — His  life,  into  your  fainting  soul — to  wind  these 
severed  cords  about  His  loving  heart.  This  patient,  boundless 
love  was  our  Lynn's  dying  hope ;  and  you  will  never  be  com- 
forted until  you  accept  it." 

"It  is  easy  to  talk!"  said  Ellen,  fretfully.  "You  cannot 
understand  a  sorrow  like  mine." 

"  The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  Ellen,  and  my  life 
has  not  been  all  sunshine.  There  are  griefs,  piercing  and  drying 
up  the  spirit — never  revealed  to  man." 

"  I  know  that.  Is  not  my  soul  shrouded  in  sackcloth  drinking 
wormwood  and  gall — when  my  body  is  bedizened  in  its  finest 
array,  and  the  sparkling  wine  reflecting  the  lying  bloom,  that 
says  I  am  glad  and  gay  !  I  envied  you  your  mourning  dress  as 
long  as  you  wore  it ;  and  when  he  was  named  by  the  hypocrites 
who  fawned  upon  him  in  life,  I  had  to  seem  as  unconcerned  as 
they;  you  'had  no  need  to  stifle  your  sighs,  for  he  was  your 
friend.  I  had  denied  him  as  my  lover,  while  we  were  betrothed ; 
I  cannot  publish  it  now.  There  is  but  one  restraint  upon  my 
despair.  If,  as  you  say,  the  spirits  of  beloved  ones  are  with  us, 
and  he  is  among  the  blest,  he  must  be  grieved, — if  they  can 
grieve — that  I  contemn  the  Being  he  loves." 

"  Ellen !  this  language  is  evidence  that  your  chastisement  is 
not  wanton  injustice.  Whether  he  hears  you  or  not,  you  grieve 
and  insult  your  Maker  by  your  mad  words,  the  Saviour,  to  whom 
you  are  indebted  for  being  and  comforts  and  friends — who  has 
loved  you  from  the  beginning.  You  knelt  to  a  creature  He  had 
made ;  He  interposed  the  gate  of  death,  to  save  you  from  the  fate 
of  the  idolater,  and  you  ask  to  spend  your  life  in  bewailing  your 
affliction — in  showing  your  adoration  of  perishable  dust,  and 
reviling  your  best  Friend !  Is  this  your  gratitude  ?" 

Ellen  did  not  speak.  Ida  drew  her  closer.  "  My  dearest 
girl!"  she  said,  "I  do  not  reprove  you  in  my  own  name.  I 
have  been  as  guilty  as  yourself;  and  it  is  in  remembrance  of 
the  retribution  which  followed,  I  warn  you — in  remembrance  of 
the  love  that  forgave  me,  and  bestowed  peace  and  joy,  in  place 
of  disquiet  and  mourning,  that  I  entreat  you — come  to  Jesus  !" 

"  I  cannot !  your  pleadings  are  water  upon  a  rock.  I  have 
been  thinking,  as  you  were  speaking,  whether  I  cared  to  go  to 
Heaven — and  I  painted  it,  gloriously  beautiful,  as  holy  men  tel] 


ALONE.  327 

us  it  is — but  without  the  love,  my  foolish  vanity  tempted  me  to 
sport  with,  when  it  was  mine — for  which  I  would  imperil  my 
soul  now — and  the  Creator  of  that  heaven,  and  its  angels,  and 
fair  sights  and  musio  were  delightless.  Bather  misery  with 
him,  than  every  other  joy  without.  Oh  !  if  he  had  known 
how  I  loved  him !" 

Her  head  fell  upon  the  tomb,  and  the  tears  rained  upon  the 
turf.  Ida  wept,  too — but  in  pity.  Ellen  was  perverse  in  her 
hopeless  sorrow — her  friend  could  only  commit  her  to  the  tender 
mercy  she  had  besought  her  to  seek. 

"  If  you  knew  how  Our  Father  loves  you  both,  dear  Ellen  I" 
she  whispered,  but  there  was  no  reply. 

It  was  a  trial  to  say  farewell  to  that  grave.  She  had  visited 
it  ere  the  sods  joined  over  it ;  planted  flowers  there,  and  watered 
them  with  tears;  had  sat  there  at  sunset,  and  watched  the 
"  long,  bright  pomp"  he  used  to  love ;  had  learned  there  lessons 
of  contentment  and  charity,  and  active  usefulness,  "  while  the 
day  lasted."  Next  to  one  other  green  heap,  where  the  willow 
shadows  were  dancing,  this  was  the  dearest  spot  on  earth  to 
her.  She  seemed  brought  so  near  to  Lynn  by  the  sight  of  it ; 
and  as  she  had  kissed  his  white  brow  in  death,  she  pressed  her 
lips  to  the  marble,  with  a  murmur  of  regretful  fondness — 
"  Brother !" 


A  L  ON  E . 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

JOHN  DANA,  his  wife  and  little  ones,  attended  Ida  to  Sunny- 
bank.  They  arrived  late  at  night,  tired  and  sleepy ;  but  their 
sunrise  matins  were  caroled  by  Ida,  as  she  sang  a  lively  hymn 
in  the  breakfast-room,  under  the  guest-chamber,  She  roamed 
briskly  to  and  fro,  rummaging  side-boards  and  peeping  into 
closets. 

"  Jest  like  you  used-  to  do,  Miss  Ida  I"  said  Aunt  Judy.  «  Law 
me  !  this  comes  of  faith.  I  allers  said  I  should  live  to  deliver 
up  them  keys  into  your  hands.  And  you've  come  home  for 
good,  honey  ?" 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Judy — come  to  stay  with,  and  take  care  of  you. 
That's  «  for  good/  isn't  it  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  !     It's  a  mighty  'sponsibility,  honey  !" 

"She'll  have  strength  given  her  to  bear  it  I"  said  Will,  behind 
her.  "  It's  time  your  biscuits  were  baking,  Aunt  Judy,  and 
you're  talking  about  'sponsibility  !" 

"  I  shall  depend  upon  you,  Uncle  Will,"  said  Ida.  « The 
servants  were  easily  controlled  while  mother's  influence  was  at 
work.  How  they  will  submit  to  one  of  my  age  and  experience 
remains  to  be  seen." 

"  Mr.  Grant  keeps  them  tolerably  straight,  ma'am.  I  can't 
say  it's  exactly  as  'twas  in  her  time,  but  they'll  break  in  pretty 
easy,  I  reckon.  An  overseer,  no  matter  how  smart  and  good, 
aint  a  marster  or  mistis.  We  get  our  victuals  and  clothes,  and 
look  just  the  same,  but  there's  nobody  to  ride  down  from  'the 
house/  after  planting,  and  hoeing,  and  harvesting's  done,  and 
say,  well  done,  boys !'  and  at  night,  when  we,  whose  quarters 
are  in  the  yard,  come  up,  it's  so  dark  and  lonesome,  and  still, 
and  the  doors  and  windows  all  shut,  it  makes  us  low-spirited — 
like  'twas  no  use  to  work — and  Sunday — we  feel  it  then  !" 

"  So  you  are  rather  glad  I  am  back  again  ?" 

"  Glad  I  mistis !  I  couldn't  be  more  pleased  if  you  was  my  own 
child !  We  need  you,  ma'am ;  we  need  you !" 

"Still,  as  Aunt  Judy  says,  it's  a  great  responsibility." 


ALONE. 

"  You're  one  of  the  Lord's  lambs,  mistis.     He  will  provide." 
He  went  out,  and  Ida  caught  up  his  last  words,  and  through 

the  dark  nooks  and  reverberating  galleries  of  the  old  house, 

sounded  the  refrain — 

" '  His  call  we  obey,  like  Abram  of  old, 

Not  knowing  our  way,  but  faith  makes  us  bold, 

For  'though  we  are  strangers,  we  have  a  good  guide, 

And  trust  in  all  dangers,  the  Lord  will  provide!'" 

She  met  her  guests  with  a  kiss,  and  a  jingle  of  the  key- 
basket,  and  seating  them  at  table,  poured  out  the  coffee;  refuting 
Mr.  Dana's  objection  that  his  was  too  sweet,  by  the  Irish  lady's 
answer  to  a  similar  complaint  from  General  Washington — 
"  Shure,  and  if  'twas  all  sugar,  'twouldn't  be  too  good  for  yer 
Honor  I" — piled  the  children's  plates  with  buttered  cakes — 
rattling  all  the  while  of  her  dignities,  possessions  and  "  'sponsi- 
bility."  After  finding  a  clean  grass  plat  for  the  children's  play- 
ground, she  challenged  Mrs.  Dana  to  a  stroll  over  the  house 
and  garden.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  family  mansion,  rambling 
and  picturesque ;  some  rooms  wainscotted  to  the  ceiling,  and 
lighted  by  rows  of  narrow  windows,  with  surprisingly  small 
panes.  These  were  chambers:  the  lower  story,  the  parlour, 
dining-room,  and  the  apartments  appropriated  to  her  mother  and 
herself,  were  light,  large,  and  finished  in  a  more  modern  style. 
Mrs.  Dana  preferred  the  antique.  The  massive  furniture  suited 
them  so  well,  and  it  was  interesting  to  think  of  the  generations 
they  had  known — what  stories  they  would  relate  if  the  panelled 
oak  could  speak. 

"  With  a  little  variation,  they  would  tell  one  of  all,"  replied 
Ida.  "  They  were  born,  suffered,  joyed  and  died !"  And  she 
thought  how  she  had  gone  through  all,  except  the  last,  within 
these  walls.  The  garden  was  ploughed  up.  There  was  no 
comeliness  in  it,  but  it  was  less  desolate  than  when  overgrown 
with  weed. 

«  The  soil  is  fertile,"  said  Mr.  Grant.  «  We  shall  have  vege- 
tables worth  showing  this  summer,  Miss  Ida.  Mr.  Dana  sends 
his  respects,  and  will  you  step  into  the  parlour  ?  we  would  like 
to  consult  you." 

Ida  composed  her  face  into  a  Malvo-io  expression  of  solemnity 
and  conceit ;  pompously  apologised  tc  Mrs.  Dana,  and  obeyed. 
28* 


530  ALONE. 

But  the  account  books  were  shut,  and  her  guardian  was  luxu- 
riating in  an  arm-chair  and  a  cigar. 

"  Mr.  Grant  and  myself  have  been  investigating  and  comparing 
accounts,  Ida/'  he  said ;  « and  the  result  is  highly  creditable 
to  him  and  those  in  his  service.  Without  wearying  you  with 
particulars,  I  have  set  down  the  sums  total  here.  You  perceive 
that  the  crops  have  met  the  expenditures  of  the  plantation;  and 
each  year,  the  nett  profits  have  surpassed  those  of  the  preceding 
— a  proof  that  your  land  is  constantly  improving.  This,  as  I 
said,  is  to  be  attributed  to  Mr.  Grant's  judicious  management. 
Your  servants  are  well  fed  and  clothed,  and  the  doctor's  bill 
trifling  in  its  amount.  Praise  is  also  due  to  Mr.  Head.  I 
approve  entirely  of  the  investments  he  has  made  of  the  funds, 
left  after  the  necessary  disbursements  for  expenses.  Your 
money  is  safe  and  not  idle.  You  were  fortunate  in  your  stew- 
ards, and  assume  the  control  of  an  unincumbered  estate,  under 
most  favorable  auspices." 

"  I  am  indeed  grateful  to  Providence,  and  to  them,  sir.  It 
is  not  my  wish,  however,  to  release  you  from  your  guardianship. 
I  cannot  do  it  nominally,  as  yet,  and  after  the  law  shall  permit 
it,  I  shall  still  rely  upon  you  for  direction.  A  woman  is  not 
fitted  to  be  a  financier.  It  is  a  trespass  upon  your  time  and 
goodness,  but  I  cannot  endure  that  you  should  give  me  up." 

"  Nor  I,  my  child.  You  will  never  ask  advice  or  assistance 
from  me  in  vain.  If  your  measures  are  ill-advised,  I  shall 
oppose  them,  and  forward  your  interest  by  every  means  in  my 
power." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  was  unjust  to  question  this  for  an  instant. 
You  feared  to  weary  me  with  particulars ; — you  have  no  other 
objection  to  my  looking  into  them  ?" 

"None,  certainly." 

She  pored  over  the  columns  attentively,  and  her  guardian 
felt  his  respect  for  her  rising  still  higher,  as  the  deep  thought- 
fulness  which  had  its  home  in  the  eyes  and  brow,  slowly  covered 
the  face.  It  was  no  common  mind  speaking  there — il^was  com- 
petent to  its  work.  A  gleam  of  pleasure  shot  across  her  counte- 
nance, as  she  concluded  the  examination.  Dipping  a  pen  into 
the  standish,.she  sketched  rapidly  a  calculation  upon  a  sheet  of 
paper,  and  spread  it  before  Mr.  Dana. 


ALONE.  331 

"  I  registered  a  vow,  years  ago,  that  my  maiden  enterprise, 
when  I  should  come  into  office,  should  be  the  establishment  of 
a  charity  school.  You  have  there  an  estimate  of  the  amount 
needed  to  put  it  into  operation — not  guess-work,  but  the  actual 
sums  I  will  have  to  expend  for  teacher's  salary,  books  and  furni- 
ture, repair  of  .the  room,  and  a  small  remainder  for  contingent 
expenses.  This  knowledge  I  have  gained  by  inquiry  of  those 
familiar  with  these  things.  I  am  confounded  at  the  paltry  total 
— I  interpret  that  arch  of  the  eyebrows/'  she  continued,  laugh, 
ing,  •'<  but  before  you  cast  any  obstacle  in  my  way,  listen— dear 
Mr.  Dana  !  I  have  kept  an  e  expense-book'  ever  since  I  can 
recollect.  During  the  first  winter  and  spring  of  my  going  into 
society  in  Richmond,  I  spent  more  than  that  in  dresses  and 
ornaments — the  two  summers  I  passed  with  Carry,  previous  to 
her  marriage,  as  much  more, — for  it  was  a  fashionable  country 
neighborhood,  and  in  such,  the  passion  for  show  and  ostentation 
is  not  a  whit  less  than  in  the  city.  The  price  I  should  pay  for 
board  elsewhere,  will  meet  my  personal  expenses  here  ;  I  have 
no  near  relatives  for  whom  to  economise,  and  there  are  scores  of 
children,  growing  up  around  me,  destitute  of  education,  except 
that  bestowed  gratis  by  poverty  and  vice." 

"I  commend  your  resolution,  my  daughter," — this  was  his 
phrase  of  greatest  endearment — «  but  it  is  a  weighty  undertaking 
for  a  young  person,  and  a  woman.  If  commenced,  it  must  be 
prosecuted  vigorously,  or  it  will  do  more  harm  than  good.  One 
session  will  hardly  suffice  for  a  beginning.  This  appropriation, 
which  is  a  liberal  deduction  from  your  income,  small  as  you 
deem  it,  is  not  for  this  year  alone.  Hitherto  your  affairs  have 
prospered,  but  you  may  have  reverses.  A  failure  of  crops,  which 
not  unfrequently  happens  to  others,  would  embarrass  you  con- 
siderably." 

« I  would  draw  upon  my  invested  funds." 

«  And  if  stocks  fall,  or  a  bank  breaks  ?" 

"  And  what  is  more  probable  than  that  all  these  misfortunes 
will  crowd  upon,  me  at  once,  I  may  die !"  said  Ida,  with  per- 
suasive gravity,  "and  when  my  Heavenly  Master  demands  the 
reckoning  of  my  stewardship,  I  shall  render  in  the  plea,  <  Lo  ! 
here  is  Thy  talent,  hid  in  a  napkin !'  He  has  given  me — if 
not  riches — more  than  a  competency  for  my  wants.  It  may  not 


832  ALONE. 

be  worldly-wise,  dear  guardian,  but  it  is  Christian-like,  to  give 
of  my  present  abundance,  and  trust  that  he  will  be  as  bountiful 
in  time  to  come,  as  He  has  been  until  now." 

"  There's  sense  and  religion  in  that  I"  commented  Mr.  Grant, 
admiringly. 

"He  that  giveth  to  the  poor,  lendeth  to  the  Lord,"  said 
Ida,  smiling  in  her  guardian's  face.  "  What  think  you  of  the 
security,  Mr.  Dana?" 

"  That  your  faith  shames  my  caution.  Assuming  that  the 
plan  is  feasible  and  prudent  in  its  main  points,  let  us  descend  to 
the  minutiae — '  Repairs  of  building' — where  is  the  room  ?" 

Ida  pointed  from  the  window  to  a  house  in  the  yard.  "  My 
father  built  it  for  an  office — my  mother  used  it  as  a  lumber- 
room.  The  plastering  has  fallen,  and  the  roof  leaks,  but  Will 
tells  me  the  plantation  carpenter  and  bricklayer  can  put  it  in 
good  order.  They  can  make  the  desks  and  benches  too." 

"  '  Books' — this  is  the  probable  outlay,  I  suppose." 

"It  is  computed  from  a  list  of  prices,  furnished  by  a  book- 
seller." 

"  Now,  last  and  most  important — the  teacher.  Is  it  to  be  a 
girls'  or  a  boys'  school  ?" 

"  For  girls,  mainly ;  but  small  boys  will  be  admitted.  Large 
ones  might  be  refractory  to  a  lady." 

"  You  will  have  an  instructress,  then  ?  Where  will  she 
board  ?" 

"  Here.     Shall  I  not  have  a  spinster  household  ?" 

"  With  Miss  Betsey  to  matronise  you.  You  will  be  fastidious 
in  your  selection,  as  she  is  to  be  a  member  of  your  family.  Your 
provident  brain  has  not  picked  her  out,  surely  ?" 

"  You  will  laugh  when  I  say  that  I  have  one  in  view  ;  but  I 
am  hesitating  as  to  the  propriety  of  making  her  an  offer.  I 
have  no  false  pride  to  prevent  me  from  engaging  in  honest 
labor ;  but  very  sensible  people,  in  other  respects,  are  troubled 
with  this  weakness.  Neither  do  I  mean  to  term  mine  a  <  charity 
school,'  in  consideration  for  pride  of  a  more  commendable  kind, 
which  the  parents  may  have.  The  teacher  will  be  my  equal 
and  companion.  Without  interfering  with  her  government,  I 
shall  be  as  well  known  to  the  pupils  as  herself;  if  she  is  absent 
or  sick,  be  her  substitute;  yet  she  may  regard  the  situation  as 


ALONE.  333 

too  humble.  Did  you  ever  see  a  school-fellow  of  Carry's  named 
Emma  Glenn,  a  modest,  sweet-looking  girl  ?" 

"  Glenn  !     I  cannot  recall  her.     She  is  your  choice  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  She  is,  like  myself,  an  orphan.  Anna  Talbot 
awakened  my  sympathies  for  her,  by  relating  how  and  where 
she  saw  her  last  summer.  She  is  dependent  upon  her  own 
exertions,  and  for  two  years  has  taught  in  the  family  of  an 
uncle,  for  the  miserable  stipend — think  of  it,  sir  !  of  fifty  dollars 
a  year  !  for  instructing  six  children,  two  of  whom,  sleep  in  her 
chamber ;  and  her  position  is  uncomfortable  from  various  other 
causes.  She  was  universally  beloved  at  school ;  and  her  stand- 
ing for  scholarship,  unquestionable.  Can  it  be  more  humiliating 
to  labor  as  my  colleague,  than  the  despised  beneficiary  of  a 
niggardly  relative  ?" 

"  I  imagine  not,"  he  rejoined,  smiling.  "  What  is  your  notion, 
Mr.  Grant,  of  this  hair-brained  young  lady  ?" 

"  That  we  should  all  be  better,  and  I  am  not  sure,  but  wiser 
too,  for  some  of  her  spirit  •"  he  replied. 

"I  am  not,  I  hope,  thoughtlessly  sanguine,  Mr.  Dana;" 
pursued  Ida.  "  I  expect  discouragement  and  difficulties,  for  I 
know  the  class  I  have  to  deal  with.  It  is  no  girl's  ambition  to 
play  lady  patroness  that  spurs  me  on  in  this  task.  The  idea 
originated  with  my  mother,  and  was  a  darling  scheme  of  hers 
and  mine ;  but  was  laid  low  with  many  other  benevolent  plans 
— laid  by,  I  should  say — for  my  prayer  and  aim  are  to  prove 
myself  worthy  of  my  parentage.  Few  females  at  my  age  are 
placed  in  my  circumstances ;  and  I  do  not  court  notoriety  or 
responsibility,  although  some  will  have  it  so.  Constant,  stirring 
exercise  is  as  indispensable  to  my  mind  as  body.  Forgive  me, 
dear  sir;  but  I  have  been  distressed  by  an  occasional  misgiving, 
that  you  thought  me  unfeminine,  regardless  of  public  opinion. 
I  love  my  friends  as  dearly,  truly  as  any  one;  I  have  no  relish 
for  masculine  pursuits ;  I  would  have  woman  move  in  her  God- 
appointed  sphere ; — but  if  He  has  endowed  me  with  talents  and 
opportunity  for  extending  my  usefulness,  I  fear  not  to  improve 
them.  Do  you  understand  me  ?" 

"  My  daughter !  must  I  say,  that  next  to  my  wife,  you  are 
nearer  to  me  than  any  woman  living  ?  and  I  respect  and  honor, 
as  much  as  I  love  you.  Where  is  the  mammet  of  fashion  1 


31  ALONE. 

would  consult  and  trust  as  I  do  you  ?  You  are  honestly  striving 
with  a  purpose,  and  hoping  for  no  plaudit  but  '  she  hath  done 
what  she  could. '  How  many  ndstake  the  limit  of  their  <  could  !' 
Go  on  as  you  have  begun,  and  you  will  develope  the  highest 
type  of  female  character.  That  I  have  not  .said  this  much 
before,  is  because  I  am  a  man  of  few  words ;  and  you  appeared 
to  shun  open  praise." 

Mr.  Grant,  seeing  they  were  forgetting  him,  had,  with  native 
delicacy,  stepped  without  the  door,  upon  pretext  of  speaking  to 
a  passing  laborer. 

Ida  was  moved  even  to  tears,  by  her  guardian's  unqualified 
encomium,  so  feelingly  uttered.  The  esteem  of  such  a  man  was, 
of  itself  a  reward  for  her  conflicts  with  self  and  outward  tempta- 
tions. She  had  so  much  to  be  thankful  for  !  she  said  over  and 
over,  that  day.  She  was  at  home  !  at  Sunnybank  !  the  air  was 
purer — the  water  clearer — the  birds  merrier,  there  than  any- 
where else ;  and  there  was  abiding  tranquillity  in  the  thought 
that  she  might  live  and  die  under  the  roof-tree  that  sheltered  her 
cradle ;  an  enlargement  of  heart  and  kindliness  as  she  beheld  her 
dependents  rejoicing  in  her  restoration  to  them ;  looking  to  her 
for  support  and  happiness.  And  that  mother's  grave  was  there  ! 
She  sat  there  a  long  hour  at  even-tide.  The  willow  leaflets  were 
just  putting  out,  and  the  swaying  of  the  flexile  boughs  was 
slight  and  noiseless.  There  was  a  hush  in  the  air — not  a  dead 
calm — but  a  solemn  pause,  as  if  Nature  had  folded  her  busy 
hands  to  return  devout  thanks  for  mercies  past,  and  gather 
strength  for  future  labor.  Ida  was  no  sickly  dreamer  now. 
She  knew  life,  as  it  is — a  day !  only  a  day — divide  and  sub- 
divide as  we  may, — the  morning  hallowed  by  some  with  early 
prayer — squandered  by  more  in  trifling ;  the  noon,  waxing  to 
its  height  over  reeking  brows  and  panting  chests,  and  straining 
arms ;  the  evening,  relaxing  the  strung  muscles,  and  curdling 
the  bounding  blood,  and  bringing  to  each  his  meed, — righteous 
recompense  for  his  deeds,  fair  or  foul ;  and  the  night — black- 
browed  angel,  saying  to  the  vexed  brain,  "Thy  work  is  ended  !" 
spreading  his  hands  over  the  swelling  heart-wave,  and  it  is  still ! 
bidding  the  harassed  body — "  Sleep  on  now  and  take  your  rest." 
She  knew  life,  and  that  to  the  God-fearing  toiler  in  His  vineyard, 
there  is  no  rest  until  nigh*.  He  is  not  denied  the  inhalation  of 


ALONE.  335 

the  odorous  breeze,  and  a  pause  in  the  shade  to  wipe  his  heated 
brow;  but  he  must  not  swerve  from  his  furrow  to  seek  it. 
Flowers,  whose  kindred  blossom  in  Paradise,  smile  up  from  the 
unsightly  clods,  and  these '  he  may  wear  in  his  bosom,  leaving 
unculled  the  poppies  and  almond-laurel  which  flaunt  near  by ; 
content  in  knowing  but  this,  what  is  his  work,  and  bending, 
training  every  power  to  the  strenuous  endeavor  to  do  it. 

Mr.  Dana  stayed  but  three  days ;  his  family  prolonged  their 
visit  into  as  many  weeks  ;  nor  would  Ida  have  resigned  them 
then,  had  not  Emma  been  daily  expected ;  for  the  school  was  a 
fixed  fact.  Accompanied  and  guarded  by  the  faithful  Will,  Ida 
had  explored  the  woods,  gullies  and  old  fields  for  recruits.  Her 
determined  spirit  bore  her  out,  or  she  would  have  thrown  up  the 
project  by  the  end  of  the  first  day.  She  chose  what  Will  called 
the  "  toughest  cases  "  for  her  freshest  energies. 

"  The  Digganses  "  lived  in  a  rickety  hut,  in  the  exact  centre 
of  a  common  of  broom  straw,  mowed  down  to  stubble,  for  ten 
feet  around  the  door — said  area  populated  at  Ida's  visit,  by  five 
white-headed  children,  three  hounds,  and  two  terrier  puppies,  a 
full-grown  grunter  and  a  brood  of  little  ones,  and  half  a  dozen 
meagre  fowls.  The  hounds  bayed ;  the  terriers  squeaked  their 
shrill  treble ;  the  pigs  squealed,  and  made  for  the  high  straw  ; 
the  human  animals  scampered  squallingly, into  the  house;  while 
Ida's  horse — to  complete  the  hubbub — set  up  a  frightened  neigh, 
and  would  have  run,  but  for  Will's  grip.  Without  waiting  for 
Mrs.  Diggans'  "Light!  won't  you  ?"  she  sprang  from  the  saddle. 
The  hostess  came  to  the  door  with  a  greasy,  steaming  kettle  in 
one  hand,  and  the  flesh-fork  in  the  other.  She  deposited  thenj 
upon  the  ground,  wiped  her  hands  upon  her  begrimmed  apron, 
and  offered  her  right.  Ida  blessed  the  ignorance  of  Fashion's 
laws  in  these  regions,  which  did  not  compel  her  to  remove  her 
gloves.  The  cabin  did  not  belie  the  promise  of  the  exterior.  It 
was  dingy  and  dirty,  scented  with  bacon  and  cabbage,  and  an 
indescribable  smell,  as"  of  a  musty  cupboard,  converted  into  a 
sleeping-room.  Yet  these  people  were  not  disreputable,  in  the 
ordinary  acceptation  of  the  word.  They  had  never  been  convicted 
of  theft  or  drunkenness.  Indolence  and  improvidence  kept 
them  down,  for  they  were  never  "  up."  They  were  as  well 
off  now  as  when  they  married ;  if  the  children  came  faster 


336  ALONE. 

than  the  bread,  they  begged  or  borrowed  of  their  "  lucky" 
neighbors. 

"  I'm  mighty  pleased  to  see  you !"  said  Mrs.  Diggans,  dusting 
a  wooden  cricket  with  the  convenient  apron.  "  How  much 
you've  growed  like  your  mother.  Good  Fathers  !  I  never  see 
two  folks  more  alike.  You've  done  come  home  to  live,  I've 
heern." 

"  I  hope  so,  ma'am." 

"You  didn't  like  town-folks,  I  'spose  ?" 

" Yes,  ma'am ;  I  have  some  good  friends  there,  but  I  think 
my  place  is  here." 

"  TSm-hum  !  well — you  ain't  married  ?" 

"  Oh  !  no,  ma'am." 

"  But  you're  goin'  to  be,  I  reckon  ?"  slyly. 

"Not  that  I  know  of.  But  how  are  you  getting  on,  Mrs. 
Diggans  ?" 

"  Ah,  Miss  Idy !  in  the  same  old  way ; — can't  never  make 
both  ends  jine,  but  somehow  we  lives  and  fattens." 

"  How  many  children  have  you  ?" 

"  Six — my  biggest  girl  is  out,  visitin'  her  father's  kin." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  I  must  be  growing  old.  I  recollect  when 
you  were  married.  You  wore  your  wedding-dress'  the  next 
Sunday,  and  I  thought  it  was  so  fine." 

"I  wonder  if  you  do?"  said  the  flattered  Mrs.  Diggans. 
"  Who'd  a  thought  it  ? — and  you  so  young  !  One  of  my  chil- 
dren's named  after  you — Ide-e-e  !"  with  a  car-whistle  termina- 
tion. "  Gome  here  this  minute  !  I  liked  it,  'cause  'twas  a  pretty 
name — sort  o'  high-soundin'  you  know — Ide-e-e-e !" 

Ida  had  occular  evidence  of  this,  new  beauty  of  her  cognomen. 

"  And  your  mother  was  allers  mighty  kind  to  me — ah  !  she 
was  a  lady — every  inch  of  her  ! — Ide-e-e-e  !  if  you  don't  come 
'long,  I'll  spank  you  well !" 

And  "  Idee"  sneaked  in,  fist  in  her  mouth,  and  scraped  her 
bare  toes  in  a  frightfully  flesh-crawling,  provoking  manner,  while 
her  namesake  informed  her  of  their  relation  to  each  other. 

"How  old  are  you,  Ida?" 

"Going  on  seven j"  answered  the  mother. 

"  Can  you  read  ?" 

"Bless  your  life,  Miss  Idy !  I  don't  have  time  to  teach  them, 


ALONE.  337 

nor  their  father  neither.  Mercy  knows  how  they  are  to  git 
any  learnin'.  Poor  folks  don't  need  much,  but  its  more 
re-spectable  to  know  how  to  read  and  write." 

"  But  you  can  read,  Mrs.  Diggans." 

"  I  used  to  could." 

"  You  do  not  object  to  their  being  taught  if  you  are  not 
troubled  about  it  ?" 

"  No-o.  I  reckon  not — but  who's  a  goin'  to  do  it  ?  thar's 
the  rub !" 

"  I  will  have  it  done." 

"You!  Miss  Ida!  oh — oh!  teachin'  poor  folk's  chillen  ain't 
for  the  likes  of  you.  "We've  scuffled  along  without  edication, 
and  so  must  they." 

"  Say  you  will  send  them,  Mrs.  Diggans,  and  I  pledge  you 
my  word  they  shall  be  as  carefully  attended  to,  as  if  they  were 
the  richest  in  the  land." 

She  explained  her  plan.     Mrs.  Diggans  demurred. 

"  She  couldn't  spar  Maria  Julia,  and  Anne  Marthy  was  too 
little  to  walk  so  far; — then  their  clothes  warn't  fitten.  She 
was  mighty  obliged,  jest  as  much  as  if  she  had  a-sent'  em." 

« I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Ida.  "  I  came  here  first,  knowing 
your  attachment  to  our  family.  I  am  really  desirous  you  should 
oblige  me.  I  am  so  disappointed." 

Mrs.  Diggans  relented.  "  If  they  had  decent  clothes,  Miss 
Idy. — See  them  dirty  rags  I" 

"  Their  clothing  must  be  whole  and  clean,  certainly.  Promise 
they  shall  attend  all  the  session,  and  I  will  give  them  a  suit 
apiece." 

"You're  too  good,  Miss  Idy— jest  like  your  ma!  We'll  talk 
about  it." 

"  I  must  have  an  answer  now.  My  number  is  limited,  as 
there  will  be  but  one  teacher.  How  many  shall  I  put  down  ?" 
producing  paper  and  pencil. 

"  Only  two  !  but  that  is  better  than  none.  <  For  the  entire 
session,'  Mrs.  Diggans ;  I  trust  to  your  word." 

"  I  keeps  a  promise  when  I  makes  it.     Set  'em  down." 

"  Hard  customers,  Mistis  !"  said  Will,  as  they  remounted. 

"Bather,  Uncle  Will;  yet  I  dread  our  next  visit  as  much. 
Does  Mr.  Pinely  drink  now  ?" 

29 


338  ALONE. 

"When  he  can  get  money  or  beg  liquor.  I  feel  mean,  when 
he  stops  me  in  the  road,  to  borrow  a  fourpence.  '  Ah,  Will !' 
he  says,  e  thriving  and  likely  as  when  you  drove  your  master's 
carriage  after  his  bride — your  late  lamented  mistis  !  You  don't 
happen  to  have  a  fourpence  in  your  pocket,  my  boy  ?  Unfor- 
tunately, I'm  out  of  change.  Thank  you,  my  fine  fellow — I'll 
remember  you  my  lad  !'  I  can't  deny  him,  Mistis.  He  knowcd 
your  father  well,  when  they  were  both  young  men — a  smart, 
handsome  gentleman  he  was  !  and  to  think  I" 

"  And  to  see  I"  thought  Ida,  as  the  house  peeped  through  the 
trees,  with  unglazed  windows,  crumbling  chimney,  and  sunken 
roof.  It  was  presented  to  him  by  her  father — a  neat,  comfort- 
able cottage.  His  wife  died  of  a  broken  heart ;  the  children 
were  saved  from  starvation  and  freezing,  times  without  number, 
by  her  mother.  How  they  subsisted  now,  was  an  impenetrable 
mystery ;  for  the  father  never  did  a  stroke  of  work,  and  loafed 
around  the  country,  thrusting  himself  upon  the  hospitality  of 
those  with  whom  he  had  associated  in  former  years,  wearing  hia 
welcome — not  threadbare,  but  into  shreds,  before  he  let  go. 
In  a  beggar's  garb,  and  soliciting  alms  from  the  slaves  of  his  old 
companions,  he  retained  the  boastful  swagger  and  ornate  language 
which  earned  for  him,  in  youth,  the  soubriquet  of  "  Pompous 
Pinely." 

The  eldest  daughter  was  sitting  upon  the  door-step,  dressed 
almost  in  tatters ;  her  matted  hair  twisted  up  with  a  tinsel  comb 
— a  gift  from  her  father,  in  a  generously  drunken  fit;  and 
the  remnants  of  a  pair  of  silk  stockings  hanging  about  a  neatly 
turned  foot  and  ankle.  Her  face  was  clean ;  and  Ida  could  not 
but  observe  its  beauty,  as  she  blushed  and  smiled  an  embarrassed 
welcome. 

"  You  have  not  forgotten  me,  Laura ;  but  you  have  grown 
so,  I  scarcely  knew  you.  Are  you  all  well  ?" 

«  Except  papa,  who  has  a  headache.     Walk  in." 

"  No,  thank  you.  It  is  pleasant  out  here."  She  seated  herself 
upon  a  block  beside  the  door.  "  Where  are  the  children  ?" 

«  Gone  to  look  for  strawberries." 

« Isn't  it  too  early  for  them  ?" 

«  Fm  afraid  so — but  they  wanted  some  so  badly." 


ALONE.  339 

Ida  suspected,  from  her  stammering,  thai  more  substantial 
food  would  have  been  as  acceptable. 

"I  came  partly  on  business,  Laura,"  she  hastened  to  say, 
apprehending  an  irruption  from  the  interior.  "  I  am  trying  to 
get  up  a  school  in  the  neighborhood,  to  be  taught  at  Sunnybank, 
by  a  friend  of  mine — " 

"  Miss  floss  !  do  I  in  truth,  have  the  felicity  ?"  Ida  groaned 
in  spirit.  «  The  softened  image  of  my  ever  lamented  friend  !" 
continued  the  inebriate,  whose  headache  was  easily  accounted 
for.  Putting  his  hand  to  his  heart,  he  heaved  a  profound  sigh. 
"Ah!  my  dear  young  lady  !  may  you  have  the  inheritance  of 
his  transcendant  virtues,  as  of  his  faultless  physiognomy !  Laura, 
my  daughter — have  you  offered  our  guest  refreshments  T' 

"  Excuse  me,  sir  !  I  have  not  time  to  partake  of  them.  I  was1 
apologising  to  Laura  for  my  first  visit  being  a  business  call." 

"She  wants  to  open  a  school  up  at  Sunnybank,  papa.  Do 
let  us  go!"  cried  the  girl,  eagerly.  His  face  wore  a  mask  of 
extreme  concern. 

"  It  cannot  be  !  the  righteous  Fates  can  never  be  so  oblivious 
to  unparalleled  excellence  as  to  ordain  that  you — the  solitary 
scion  of  an  aristocratic  race,  shall  be  reduced  by  unpropitious 
vicissitudes,  to  the  necessity  of  maintaining  yourself  by  the 
arduous  employment  of  imparting  instruction  to  the  juvenile 
mind  !" 

"  A  friend  is  to  be  the  instructress,  sir.  I  shall  exercise  a 
general  supervision." 

"What  a  mountain  you  remove!  I  trembled  at  the  sup- 
position that  you  were  precipitated  upon  the  frozen  charities 
of  a  mercenary  world.  Ah,  my  young  friend  !  the  most  shameful 
part  of  human  hypocrisy  is  the  heartless  repudiation  of  unmerited 
exigency !" 

"  May  we  go,  papa  ?"  persisted  the  daughter.  «'•!  so  want 
to  learn  !" 

"  My  beloved !  wariness  is  indispensable  in  the  adjudication 
of  a  measure  vitally  affecting  your  intellectual  progress.  Is  your 
friend  versed  in  classical  lore,  Miss  Ross?" 

This  absurdity  was  almost  a  match  for  Ida's  forbearance. 
"  Her  recommendations  cannot  be  impeached,  Mr.  Finely,"  she 
said,  spiritedly. 


340  ALONE. 

"  I  solicit  no  further  assurance,  Miss  Ross,  than  your  appro- 
bation of  her  qualifications.  You  have  my  paternal  sanction, 
my  daughter.  Moderate  your  transports,  my  love  !"  She  had 
clapped  her  hands.  "  Pray  assign  her  extravaganzas  to  the 
intensity  of  her  admiration  of  your  lovesome  self,  Miss  Ross. 
I  blush  at  the  trivialness  of  the  reference — but  my  income  is 
not  what  it  was,  when  your  father  and  myself  were  twin-souls. 
The  remorseless  falchion  of  Time  cleaves  down  rank  and  fortune 
in  his  flight.  The  remuneration, — Miss  Ross !  If  the  scanty 
pecuniary  assistance  I  can  render  your  fair  friend  will  ameliorate 
her  hardships,  my  <  bosom's  lord  will  sit  lightly  on  its  throne  !'  " 

Ida  curtly  told  him,  "no  tuition  fees  were  demanded." 

"  That  materially  alters  the  aspect  of  your  proposition.  My 
munificent  lady  !  this  is  a  flagrant  spoliation  of  yourself  I" 

"  I  do  not  consider  it  as  such,  sir." 

"  Your  enthusiastic  philanthropy  misleads  you.  1  cannot  be  an 
accomplice  to  this  generous  fraud.  My  children  remain  in  their 
own  habitation  unless  your  friend  accepts  compensation  for  her 
toils." 

Laura  looked  ashamed  and  sorrowful,  and  Ida  restrained  her 
indignant  contempt.  » "We  will  not  differ  about  a  trifle,  Mr. 
Finely.  The  terms  and  time  of  payment  are  subject  to  your 
discretion  and  convenience.  I  may  enter  your  little  ones — 
Laura  included  ?  There  are  three,  besides  yourself,  Laura  ?" 

"  They  are  docile  to  the  flower-wreathed  wand  of  moral  suasion, 
Miss  Ross,  but  may  betray  obduration  if  sterner  means  arc 
employed.  Of  corporeal  punishment  we  will  not  speak;  the 
rod  would  fall  barbless,  from  the  lily  digits  of  gentle  woman." 

"  You  will  come  to  school,  Monday  week ;"  Ida  was  saying 
to  Laura :  <{  but  do  not  wait  until  then  to  pay  me  a  visit.  I 
must  have  a  long  talk  with  you.  Good  bye." 

Tears  stood  in  Laura's  eyes.  Already  she  regarded  her  bene- 
factress with  feelings  bordering  upon  devotion.  Ida,  in  her  sober 
ride,  turning  over  the  degradation  and  misery  whose  alleviation 
seemed  impracticable,  had  no  suspicion  of  the  leaven  she  had 
hidden  in  the  heavy  lump. 


ALONE. 


OHAPTEK    XXIX 

ANNA  TALBOT'S  sketch  of  Emma's  privations  was  not  over- 
drawn. If  her  condition  had  been  tolerable,  an  offer  from  Ida 
Ross,  as  she  recollected  her, — proud  and  unsociable, — would  not 
have  tempted  her  to  change  it.  But  Ida  was  honorable  and 
liberal,  despite  her  haughtiness ;  and  in  her  uncle's  family,  she 
was  an  ill-paid  under-servant.  Ida  sent  her  carriage  and  servants 
for  her ;  and  this  regard  for  her  comfort,  while  it  called  forth 
the  contumely  of  her  employers,  raised  her  hopes  of  a  friendly 
reception. 

"  There's  my  mistis  in  the  porch,"  said  Will,  leaning  down 
from  his  perch,  to  speak  to  his  fair  passenger.  They  were 
driving  up  an  avenue,  closed  by  a  house,  which,  to  Emma's 
modest  eyes,  was  an  imposing  architectural  pile.  A  haze  dimmed 
her  vision ;  in  her  agitation,  she  saw  nothing  of  the  awful  figure 
Will  pointed  out,  but  the  nutter  of  white  drapery.  The  great 
yard-gates  were  open,  and  the  carriage  rolled  over  the  gravelled 
circle  which  swept  by  the  main  entrance.  She  did  not  recognise 
the  frank,  sweet  face  that  appeared  at  the  carriage-door,  but 
the  voice  was  not  to  be  forgotten.  ''  I  am  very  glad  you  are 
come  !"  it  said,  and  the  kiss  and  the  embrace  verified  the  welcome. 
"  How  changed  I"  was  the  thought  of  each.  Emma  was  thin, 
and  when  the  glow  of  the  meeting  faded — dejected.  She  looked, 
to  Ida,  like  one  who  had  been  subjected  to  a  constant  weight, 
bending  body  and  heart,  almost  to  breaking, — as  if  the  one 
feather  more  would  end  the  torture.  And  her  own  spirit,  gaining 
buoyancy  day  by  day,  under  its  discipline,  gathered  force  from 
the  necessity  of  restoring  the  lost  elasticity  to  another's.  She 
conducted  her  school-fellow  to  a  chamber,  once  hers,  and  adjoining 
that  she  now  occupied ;  divested  her  of  her  heavy  hat  and  shawl, 
and  commanded  her  imperatively  to  "lie  down."  Emma 
reposed  her  weary  limbs  upon  a  luxurious  mattress ;  the  breeze 
waving  the  spotless  curtains,  and  whispering  of  green  hills,  and 
cool  forests  and  violet  banks ;  her  hostess,  after  vainly  attempt- 
29* 


342  ALONE. 

ing  to  persuade  her  that  she  required  sleep — bathing  her  head 
with  fragrant  waters,  and  talking  in  inspiriting,  affectionate 
tones,  which  were  more  than  manna  to  her  hungry  heart.  Mrs 
Dana  had  gone  the  preceding  day,  and  Emma  was  soon  con- 
vinced that  she  had  done  a  charitable — most  meritorious  deed, 
in  arriving  when  she  did;  but  she  smiled,  as  she  heard  the 
lively  voice  dilate  upon  the  "  horrors"  and  "  azure  imps,"  that 
had  infested  the  house  while  she  was  sole  occupant — "always 
excepting  my  chaperon  and  soi-disant  housekeeper,  good  Miss 
Betsey — soi-disant  as  I  am,  in  point  of  fact,  housekeeper  myself. 
I  have  a  great  fancy  to  see  to  everything  with  my  own  eyes. 
We  are  retired  here — I  wrote  this,  you  know — but  there  are 
some  agreeable  families  within  visiting  distance.  I  am  delighted 
at  having  a  helper  in  the  labor  of  receiving  and  returning  visits ; 
and  my  rides  and  walks  will  be  doubly  pleasant.  Are  you  fond 
of  out-door  exercise  ?" 

"  Very — but  I  have  neglected  the  duty  for  a  year  or  two  past." 
"  You  shall  not  be  so  remiss  here.  I  intend  to  be  exacting. 
A  gallop  before  breakfast,  and  a  walk — not  a  promenade — 
before  tea,  will  plant  bright  roses  in  these  white  cheeks.  "When 
you  are  rested,  we  will  unlock  our  budget  of  news.  Having 
been  apart  for  so  long,  each,  will  have  a  week's  steady  talk." 

When  she  arose,  revived  in  spirits  and  strength,  she  was 
taken  over  the  premises  "  to  see  her  home."  Mr.  Grant  was 
introduced,  and  doffed  his  hat  as  to  a  queen;  the  negroes  were 
respectfully  cordial  to  the  friend  of  their  mistress;  but  more  than 
all,  Ida's  bearing  assured  the  trampled-down  orphan,  that  she 
was  here  second  to  none — superior  in  command  and  importance 
to  all,  except  the  head  of  the  establishment.  It  may  have  been 
the  earnestness,  which  was  the  prevailing  element  of  Ida'? 
character,  or  her  sympathetic  nature,  (Charley  affirmed  it  was 
the  latter,)  which  made  it  impossible  for  those  who  knew  her, 
to  be  indifferent,  or  lukewarm  in  their  sentiments  towards  her. 
Mr.  Read,  Josephine  and  Pemberton,  having  seen  the  wrong 
side  of  her  disposition,  hated  her  with  a  rancor,  benefits  nor 
patient  efforts  could  appease.  Her  chosen  intimates  found  no 
mate  for  their  affection,  but  in  their  esteem  and  respect.  Lynn's 
love  for  her  was  more  like  worship  than  that  he  entertained  for 


ALONE.  343 

Ellen — adored  as  she  was  ;  with  Carry,  she  had  no  compeer  of 
her  sex ;  the  exceeding  tenderness  of  John  Dana  and  his  wife 
was  a  mystery  to  themselves;  and  in  Charley's  heart  she  had 
the  highest  place — taking  rank  even  of  the  brother,  to  whom 
he  had  sacrificed  his  hopes  of  earthly  bliss.  Emma  experienced, 
and  yielded  to  the  charm;  she  could  not  have  resisted  suc- 
cessfully, if  she  would;  for  Ida  was  determined  to  attach  her 
to  herself,  and  her  indomitable  resolution  would  have  accom- 
plished this,  had  her  attractive  qualities  been  less  winningly 
displayed.  From  the  moment  of  her  arrival,  Emma  improved, 
and  as  the  beautiful  tracery  of  her  character  came  out,  to  reward 
the  warm  rays  love  poured  over  it,  Ida  was  confirmed  in  hei 
satisfaction  at  her  choice.  She  had  not  entire  confidence  in  hei 
ability  to  control  the  restive  spirits,  which  had  run  wild,  without 
rule  or  rein ;  but  this  fear  vanished  with  a  careful  observation 
of  her  government  and  its  results.  If  the  <•'  wand"  was  "flower- 
wreathed,"  it  was  no  supple  or  brittle  reed,  to  bend  or  snap  in 
the  storm.  None,  who  had  once  rebelled  against  her  mild  autho- 
rity, were  ever  inclined  to  repeat  the  offence. 

If,  as  had  been  asserted,  Ida  sought  the  Utopia  of  her  fancifuJ 
dreams  in  her  "  return  to  Palestine,"  as  she  playfully  styled  it ; 
if  her  ideas  of  country  life  were  drawn  from  pastorals  and 
romances,  she  would  have  sunk  under  the  drawbacks  and  iron 
realities  she  encountered.  Her  influence  over  her  servants  was 
strong;  but  among  so  many,  insubordination  reared  its  head, 
now  and  then.  The  idle  and  sulky,  deceived  by  her  amenity 
and  care  for  their  welfare,  appealed  from  Mr.  Grant's  decisions 
to  her  clemency ;  and  with  so  much  plausibility,  that  when  this 
mode  of  undermining  his  laws  was  new,  she  was  ready  to  sustain 
them.  Consistent,  however,  to  her  principle  of  examining  both 
sides  of  a  question,  she  refused  to  reverse  any  decree,  before 
hearing  all  the  circumstances;  and  invariably,  when  this  was 
done,  ratified  the  original  judgment.  There  were  old  and 
privileged  supernumeraries  who  talked  of  her  father's  child- 
hood, as  a  thing  of  yesterday ;  and  volunteering  the  advantage 
of  their  experience  for  the  benefit  of  the  "poor  chile," — tossed 
their  heads  high  at  the  idea  of  her  controlling  or  enlightening 
them.  Adding  to  self-righteousness,  the  whims  and  peevishness 


344 


ALONE. 


of  age,  they  caused  Ida  more  annoyance  than  the  management 
of  the  whole  estate  besides;  and  hardly  less  than  the  never- 
ending  vexations  of  the  Digganses,  and  their  neighbors  of  the 
same  stamp,  not  to  mention  Finely — most  wearisorr,e  of  all.  He 
penned  voluminous  epistles,  to  complain  of  "  a  trivial  oversight 
in  her  otherwise  irreproachable  system  of  philanthropy,"  or 
to  convey  a  "  father's  acknowledgments  for  the  soul-elevating 
teachings  of  which  his  beloved  offspring  were  accipients ;"  and 
when  'they  were  unnoticed,  his  visits  were  frequent.  She 
received  him  with  distant  politeness ;  and  strove  to  repress  his 
forwardness  by  chilling  dignity — and  he  came  again  next  day. 
At  last  he  presented  himself  in  the  parlor,  where  were  Emma 
and  herself — so  intoxicated,  that  he  could  not  stand  upright. 
His  tongue  was  oily  as  ever,  notwithstanding  his  limbs  refused 
to  do  their  office;  and  when  Will  entered,  in  answer  to  the 
vehement  ring,  he  was  holding  the  door  with  both  hands,  swing- 
ing it  with  him  in  his  attempts  to  bow  to  the  ladies,  he  was 
addressing  as,  "  incomparable  pair !  whose  supereminent  enchant- 
ments are  confessed  by  the  most  hebete  of  created  intelligences." 

Emma  had  shrunk  into  a  corner,  and  Ida,  her  hand  still  upon 
the  bell-rope — her  brow  frowning — spoke  in  a  lofty  tone,  "  Uncle 
Will !  you  will  conduct  this  gentleman  to  the  porch,  and  as  much 
further  as  he  shall  see  convenient  to  go.  It  is  necessary  to 
teach  him  to  exercise  some  discrimination  as  to  the  times  ot 
his  visits." 

For  Laura,  the  girls  were  strongly  interested.  Her  pro- 
gress in  her  studies  was  incredibly  rapid ;  and  their  wretched 
home,  if  comfortless,  was  clean.  She  had  no  means  of  providing 
wardrobes  or  furniture ;  and  Ida,  hailing  the  dawning  reforma- 
tion, contributed  as  delicately  as  she  could,  such  articles  as  they 
needed  most.  Laura's  taste  was  good  ;  and  her  aptitude  enabled 
her  to  catch  the  ways  and  language  of  her  friends,  with  fidelity 
and  quickness.  In  six  months  after  Ida's  business  call,  she 
would  not  have  been  ashamed  to  introduce  her  in  any  company, 
however  polished.  But  how  was  this  to  end  ?  Would  it  not 
be  wiser  benevolence  to  content  themselves  with  bestowing  the 
rudiments  of  a  common  education,  without  exciting  aspirations 
after  pursuits,  so  incongruous  with  the  occupations  of  her  lowly 


ALONE.  345 

station,  as  belles  lettres,  music  and  drawing  ?  Ida  put  the 
objection  down  with  an  irreversible  negative. 

"  The  girl  has  a  mind !  and  every  intellect  which  God  makes, 
should  receive  all  the  nutriment  it  can  absorb.  Let  us  give 
hei  her  quantum,  and  in  time  she  will  reach  her  level.  She  is 
below  it  at  present.  If  that  odious  father  were  out  of  her 
way  1" 

"  He  will  be  a  drag  to  her  as  long  as  he  lives  /'  said  Emma. 

"  Yes,  and  alas !  he  is  more  fit  to  live  than  to  die.  You  have 
read  of  the  beggar  idiot,  who  told  Sir  Walter  Scott  that  he 
would  be  perfectly  happy,  but  for  the  '  Bubly  Jock/  (turkey 
gobbler,)  that  followed  him  everywhere.  Finely  is  my  <  Bubly 
Jock/  I  listen  to  hear  him  gobble  whenever  he  comes  near  me." 

"Laura  has  an  uncommon  talent  for  music  /'  said  Emma. 

"I  have  remarked  it/'  replied  Ida,  "and  we  have  thought 
of  the  same  thing,  that  her  surest  path  to  independence,  and  the 
position  in  society  his  vice  has  lost,  is  to  qualify  herself  for  a 
teacher.  I  waited  to  consult  you  before  recommending  it  to 
her." 

"  And  that  delay  was  unnecessary.  You  can  take  my  consent 
for  granted  in  everything  your  judgment  approves.  Now,  Laura 
has  no  motive  but  her  love  for  knowledge  and  us.  With  a 
definite  aim,  she  will  surmount  every  difiiculty,  for  her  energy 
is  as  remarkable  as  her  ability." 

This  was  one  of  their  twilight  talks  in  the  roomy  porch. 

"  I  believe/'  said  Ida,  laughing  ;  "  Miss  Betsey  fears  the  Koss 
pride  is  extinct  in  me.  It  costs  her  a  twinge  to  see  me  teach 
my  sable  class,  and  she  modestly  hinted,  this  morning,  that  her 
chamber,  or  the  dining-room  would  be  a  more  proper  place  for 
their  recitations,  than  mine.  I  represented  to  her  that  they 
were  not  there  more  than  an  hour  in  the  day,  and  came  in 
groups  of  three  or  four — one  set  retiring  as  another  entered; 
and  that  they  felt  a  pride  in  being  neat  and  orderly,  because 
they  were  in  'Mistis'  room/ — but  the  dear  old  creature  was  not 
satisfied,  although  she  held  her  peace." 

"  And  you  are  the  Ida  Ross,  whose  pride  kept  the  whole  school 
at  a  distance  !"  exclaimed  Emma.  "  How  you  were  misunder 
stood !" 


346  ALONE. 

"  Understood,  my  dear  !  if  I  appeared  disagreeable  and  selfish. 
That  was  my  dark  age,  Emma.  How  much  has  transpired  since  ! 
how  much  of  sorrow — how  much  of  joy  I" 

11  You  are  not  unhappy  now  I"  said  Emma,  in  a  tone  of  sur- 
prised inquirj' 

"  No,  my  love  !  happy  and  busy — and  thankful  for  my  Father's 
love  and  favors — not  the  least  of  which  is  His  gift  of  a  com- 
panion." 

Carry  had  asked  her  a  similar  question  during  her  first  sum- 
mer at  Poplar  grove — with  what  different  emotions  she  had 
replied  1 

« But,"  she  resumed,  "  the  unbending  will  is  not  dead  yet. 
Dr.  Hall  and  lady  called  on  me  to-day,  and  I  unfolded  our 
prospectus  of  a  Sabbath-school.  The  doctor  pursed  up  his  mouth 
in  his  quizzical  way.  <  The  Church  is  four  miles  from  you.' 

"  <  But  only  three  from  you/  said  I. 

"  e  There  is  preaching  there,  on  an  average,  two  Sabbaths 
in  a  month.  Will  not  that  interfere  with  your  instructions  ?' 

"'Not  at  all,  sir.  We  shall  be  through  by  the  hour  for  public 
worship/ 

"'But  there  will  not  be  time  to  go  to  another  church,  where 
there  is  no  service/ 

"  (  Can't  help  it,  sir.  We  must  go  home  and  read  a  sermon, 
seasoned  by  the  consciousness  of  duty  performed/ 

"  e  You  have  a  school-mania  j'  said  he. 

«<  <  The  grown  trees  are  so  stubbornly  crooked,  that  I  have 
no  hope  but  in  the  twigs/ 

.  "  <  A  fair  hit,  doctor  ! '  said  Mrs.  Hall.  '  Submit  with 
a  good  grace.  He  was  wishing,  the  other  day,  for  something 
to  keep  <  idle  men '  and  children  off  of  <  Satan's  ground/  He 
is  feigning  objections,  Ida/ 

"  '  A  bad  game,  doctor/  answered  I.  <  We  will  have  the 
school,  and  what  is  more, — you  for  superintendent/ 

«  He  remonstrated  now  in  earnest,  but  we  out-talked  him.  He 
and  Mr.  Latham  are  to  circulate  the  information,  and  solicit  aid 
and  scholars." 

"Who  says  unmarried  women  can  do  nothing  in  the  work 
of  the  world's  reformation  ?"  said  Emma.  "  How  many  in 


ALONE.  ' 

your  situation,  would  be  wrapped  up  in  self,  with  a  churlish 
delight  that  the  claims  of  their  fellow-creatures  upon  them  were 
so  feeble." 

"  A  woman's  heart,  in  its  healthy  state,  must  have  some- 
thing to  love ;"  returned  Ida.  "  The  fountain  is  perennial, 
so  long  as  its  waters  are  drawn  off  Stop  their  outgoicgs — 
stagnation — poisonous  miasma — dryness  ensue.  The  more  we 
have  to  love,  the  better  we  feel — the  better  we  are,  Emma — for 
the  closer  is  our  approximation  to  the  Being,  who  is  all  love !" 

"  This  time,  a  year  ago,  I  was  disposed  to  think  that  in  the 
economy  of  His  Providence,  crosses  and  trials  were  all  His  chil- 
dren's portion  in  this  life.  Sweetly  has  He  rebuked  my  want 
of  faith  !"  said  Emma. 

"  Not  a  year  ago,"  rejoined  Ida,  "  His  ways  to  me  were 
past  finding  out.  I  wished  to  stay  here  in  peaceful  seclusion, 
and  He  sent  me  again  into  the  world.  The  '  silver  lining '  of 
the  cloud,  impervious  then,  is  already  visible.  Leaving  out  the 
experience  I  have  acquired  in  that  time,  I  should  have  com- 
menced my  residence  here  under  a  guardianship,  which  made 
interest  and  appearance  the  guage  of  fidelity ;  should  have 
missed  Mr.  Dana's  invaluable  assistance;  have  lost  an  oppor- 
tunity to  forget  past  grievances,  and  return  good  for  evil — more 
than  one,  indeed.  I  had  not  heard  then,  that  you  were  teach- 
ing, and  should  not,  therefore,  have  thought  of  you  as  a 
co-laborer.  Uncle  "Will  would  say  we  <  ought  to  be  happy  in 
the  Lord's  appointed  way.' " 

"  There  is  no  other  path  of  peace,"  said  Emma.  "  Yet  I  am 
foolishly  ungrateful  sometimes,  in  misinterpreting  what  He 
has  done,  and  peering  into  the  (  shadowy  future.'" 

"That  was,  formerly,  my  besetting  sin.  Now  I  have  to 
guard  against  'looking  mournfully  into  the  past.'  What  a 
world  of  meaning  in  those  few  words !  And  how  like  a  trumpet- 
call  to  the  <  world's  field  of  battle/  sound  the  inspired  exhorta- 
tions of  the  same  poet — 

'  Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant; 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead  ; 
Act — act  in  the  living  Present ! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead!' 


348 


ALONE. 


I  can  see  the  vigorous,  upward  fling  of  his  arm,  as  shouting 
that  last  line,  he  shakes  out  his  banner  in  the  morning  breeze  ! 
It  thrills  through  every  nerve,  as  I  recite  it." 

"  His  is  the  true  Bible  philosophy,"  said  Emma,  «  <•  living 
by  the  day/ — saying,  as  we  fall  asleep  at  night — 

'  To-morrow,  Lord!  is  Thine, 

Lodged  in  Thy  sovereign  hand ; 
And  if  its  sun  arise  and  shine, 

It  shines  by  Thy  command!' 

"Dear  Lynn  I"  sighed  Ida.  "They  sung  that  hymn  at  his 
funeral." 

"  <  Looking  mournfully  !' "  said  Emma,  in  affectionate  chiding. 

"  Yes  !  yet  not  repiningly.  I  was  thinking,  also,  of  the  sure 
pleasure  we  have  in  the  possession  of  our  Father's  love.  We 
know  that  is  pure,  and  cannot  pass  away  ;  while  our  most  sinless 
earthly  attachments  are  enjoyed  with  trembling." 

The  Sunday-school,  a  novelty  to  all — the  scoff  of  not  a  few, 
opened  with  fifty  scholars  and  five  teachers — Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Hall,  Mr.  Latham,  a  student  of  medicine  and  protegi  of  the 
former,  Ida  and  Emma.  Classing  the  children  according  to 
their  capacity  and  attainments,  the  Doctor  apportioned  an  equal 
number  to  each  of  his  assistants,  and  planted  himself  before 
a  form,  containing  ten  of  the  most  unpromising.  «  There  must 
be  an  awkward  squad,"  he  said,  afterwards,  "  and  who  is  more 
fit  to  command  it  1"  Keinforcements  were  on  the  ground  by 
the  following  Sabbath.  The  number  of  pupils  constantly  in- 
creased j  some  who  came  to  see  remained  to  teach ;  and  others 
were  pressed  into  service  by  the  energetic  superintendent. 
Having  induced  him  to  put  his  hand  t6  the  plough,  Ida  gave 
over  her  exertions  in  that  quarter ;  he  drove  as  straight  and 
deep  a  furrow  as  she  could  have  desired.  She  was  a  teacher 
in  an  obscure  corner,  and  nothing  in  her  appearance  or  that  of 
her  class,  distinguished  them  from  the  crowd,  but  when  the 
thread-like  rill  widened  into  a  flood,  bearing  broadly,  steadily 
onward,  the  wonder  and  praise  of  its  early  opponents,  she  felt 
an  honest  pride  in  the  reflection,  that  the  witch-wand  of  Chris- 
tian charity  which  had  bent  to  the  source  of  the  stream  was 
hers.  Dr.  Hall  was  mindful  of  this,  and  with  the  mistaken,  but 


ALONE.  349 

well-meant  importunity  of  gratitude,  begged  her  to  occupy  a 
more  conspicuous  post.  She  had  contributed  largely  to  the 
library,  the  selection  of  which  was  left  wholly  to  her,  and  ho 
entreated  her  to  act  as  librarian.  She  declined,  laughingly,  and 
more  positively,  as  he  insisted ;  and  at  length,  was  driven  to 
say,  that  "  if  it  were  for  the  actual  good  of  the  school,  she  would 
even  do  violence  to  her  sense  of  propriety,  and  comply;  as  it 
was  not,  she  hoped  to  be  excused  from  occupying  a  stand,  which 
was,  for  a  lady,  at  best,  but  an  honorable  pillory."  And  the 
Doctor,  finally  comprehending  what  other  men  as  wise  and 
exemplary,  are  slow  to  admit — that  to  use  one's  talents  does 
not  imply  the  abandonment  of  the  retiring  modesty  of  woman- 
hood— installed  Mr.  Latham  in  the  vacant  chair. 

Ida  was  not  too  much  absorbed  in  her  numerous  avocations 
to  think  of,  and  communicate  with  her  absent  friends.  Her  cor- 
respondence with  Mrs.  Dana,  Carry  and  Charley  was  regular ; 
John  Dana  wrote  longer  letters  to  her  than  to  any  one  besides 
his  wife ;  she  heard,  once  in  a  while,  from  Alice  Murray,  and 
through  her,  learned  that  Mrs.  Eead  was  living  in  strict  retire- 
ment at  her  father's,  seeing  none  but  her  near  relatives  and 
friends ;  and  that  Richard  was  playing  the  lover  to  Lelia  Arnold. 
"  But,"  said  the  merry  writer — "  who  angles  for  him,  must  bait 
one  of  these  patent  hooks,  which  hold,  as  well  as  catch."  Ida 
sighed  softly,  as  she  read,  and  was  unceasingly  busy  for  the  rest 
of  the  day ;  her  infallible  remedy  for  sombre  thoughts.  Mrs. 
Read  had  written  once,  while  Ida  was  at  Mr.  Dana's — a  mere 
note  of  remembrances  and  thanks.  She  might  have  supposed 
that  Josephine  had  forgotten  her  existence,  but  for  an  uncom- 
fortable suspicion  that  the  cessation  of  Anna's  friendly  billets 
was  owing  to  her  influence.  Ellen  Morris  wrote  often,  and 
spent  a  fortnight  with  her  and  Emma  in  August.  Ida  signalled 
Carry  of  the  intended  visit,  and  invited  her  to  join  in  the  re- 
union. She  was  eagerly  expected  each  evening  of  Ellen's  stay, 
and  as  often  they  looked  in  vain.  The  guest  had  been  gone  a 
week,  before  tidings  came  from  Poplar  grove.  It  was  a  double 
letter.  Arthur  wrote  that  the  little  Ida  was  recovering  from  an 
alarming  illness.  The  crisis  had  passed  now.  They  would  have 
sent  for  her,  but  the  child's  danger  was  so  imminent  for  many 
30 


350 


ALONE. 


days,  that  there  was  no  certainty  that  she  would  survive  until  a 
letter  reached  Sunnybank.  "  If  she  had  died" — and  the  strong 
physician's  hand  had  trembled  as  he  wrote  it — «  I  should  have 
taken  our  Carry  to  you.  It  was  a  heart-breaking  trial  to  her — 
I  trust,  not  an  unsanctified  one." 

Carry's  was  a  blotted  sheet,  penned  in  agitation  or  haste,  but 
its  contents  were  cheering  wine  to  Ida's  soul,  There  was  much 
said  of  her  unworthiness,  and  thankless  reception  of  the  goodness 
which  had  followed  her  all  the  days  of  her  life,  and  thanksgiv- 
ings for  her  child's  restoration,  with  slight  allusions  to  her 
harrowing  anxiety,  while  it  was  suspended  'twixt  life  and  death. 
"Pray,  dear  Ida,"  said  she,  "  that  I  may  forever  cling  to  the 
cross,  to  which  I  fled  in  my  distressful  hour  I" 

"  Another  I"  said  Ida,  with  tearful  gladness.  "  Oh  !  blessed 
Redeemer !  is  there  not  room  in  Thy  fold  for  all?" 

"  Surely,"  she  replied  to  Carry,  "  None  of  us  liveth  to  himself, 
and  none  of  us  dieth  to  himself.  My  darling  name-child,  (may 
she  be  one  of  the  Saviour's  lambs !)  has,  in  her  unconscious 
infancy,  led  her  mother  to  Him.  My  own  Carry  !  this  is  what  I 
have  prayed  for  from  the  first  hour  in  which  I  prayed  at  all.  If 
the  angels  in  heaven  rejoice  over  repenting  sinners,  shall  not  we, 
who  have  sinned,  suffered  with  them,  rejoice  the  more  at  their 
emancipation  from  bondage?  By  what  various  avenues  of 
approach  do  we  arrive  at  the  Cross  !  our  Hope  !  Some"  fly, 
scourged  by  fears  of  the  wrath  to  come ;  some  are  drawn  by  the 
gentle  cords  of  love — attracted  by  the  majestic  sweetness  of  the 
Saviour's  smile ;  others,  like  you,  for  comfort  in  sharp  and 
sudden  sorrow ;  and  others  yet,  with  myself,  having  quaffed  in 
quick  succession,  the  beaded  nectar  that  knowledge,  worldly 
applause,  earthly  loves  gave  to  our  parched  lips,  come  weary, 
distraught — our  blood  drying  with  the  fierce  heat  of  the  poison, 
to  lie  down  beside  the  still  waters.  Oh  !  my  beloved  !  the 
delights  of  sin  may  entice,  and  cavillers  ridicule,  as  false  profes- 
sors cast  reproach  upon  our  holy  religion;  but  let  us  make  it  the 
one  object  of  life — all  duties  and  pleasures  subservient  to  it;  let 
us  love  it — work  for  it ;  never  raising  our  hands,  to  sink  again 
idly,  but  striking  blows  which  shall  tell  our  zeal  for  Christ's 
kingdom ! 


ALOtfE.  351 

"  I  long  to  see  you  and  your  dear  ones.  If  you  cannot  come 
before,  you  are  pledged  to  me  for  a  part — say  the  whole,  ol 
October.  The  entire  family — my  guardian  and  your  sister, 
Charley  and  the  <wee  ones'  are  to  celebrate  my  majority  then. 
My  nominal  majority — virtually,  I  am  as  free  as  I  ever  expect 
to  be,  Emma  is  a  treasure  to  me,  and  she  seems  happy.  Who 
could  have  presaged,  in  our  school  days,  that  we  would  live  and 
labor  together  1" 


352 


ALONE. 


CHAPTEK    XXX. 

LATJRA  FINELY  was  practising  her  music  lesson  in  the  parlor 
one  day,  when  the  entrance  of  a  visitor  transferred  the  motion 
from  her  fingers  to  her  feet.  {c  I  only  glanced  at  him  as  he 
bowed  to  me  on  my  way  out,"  she  said  to  Ida.  "  He  is  tall  and 
handsome." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  Mr.  Dana  ?" 

"  Yes  ma'am,  and  it  is  not  he  This  is  a  younger  man,  and 
much  fairer." 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?"  pondered  Ida,  crossing  the  hall.  "  I  wish 
he  had  sent  in  his  name;  I  do  not  like  to  be  taken  by  surprise." 

But  she  was,  as  Richard  Copeland  rose  to  meet  her. 

"  I  had  no  thought  of  seeing  you  I"  she  said,  expressing  her 
pleasure  at  his  coming.  "  I  did  not  know  you  were  in  this  part 
of  the  country." 

"  Nor  was  I,  yesterday." 

"  You  have  been  riding  all  day ;  have  you  dined  ?" 

He  arrested  her  movement  towards  the  bell.  "  What  are  you 
about  to  do  ?" 

"  Order  refreshments  for  yourself,  and  have  your  horse  put 
up." 

"  <  Entertainment  for  man  and  beast  ?' "  he  responded,  with  a 
sickly  smile.  "  I  dined  on  the  road — my  steed  ditto;  and  he  can 
stand  where  he  is  for  a  half-hour." 

"  Half-an-hour,  Mr.  Copeland  !     You  are  not  in  the  city  I" 

"  But  my  visit  must  be  short.  How  has  the  world  treated  you 
since  our  parting?" 

"  Excellently  well !"  said  she,  gaily,  but  secretly  ill  at  ease 
at  the  alteration  she  observed  in  him.  His  manner  to -her  was 
subduedly  respectful ;  but  a  reckless,  Uase  air  hung  about  him, 
token  of  carelessness  or  dissipation. 

"  Your  friends  at  home  are  well,  I  hope,"  she  said. 

"Quite  well.  Helen — "  the  remembered  cloud  lowered 
gloomily — a  sent  her  regards." 


ALONE.  853 

"  And  you  may  carry  my  love  back  to  her.     I  will  not  repay 
formality  by  formality." 

Love  ?"  questioned  he,  with  a  keen  glance. 

:  Yes — why  not  ?" 

What  reason  have  you  to  love  her  ?" 

Certainly  no  cause  for  dislike,"  she  replied.  '•'  She  treated 
me  kindly." 

1  A  dizzy  man  sees  the  world  go  round;'  "  quoted  Richard. 

Mr.  Copeland  !"  said  Ida,  with  a  grave  sincerity,  that  always 
unmasked  dissimulation.  "  For  the  short  time  we  are  together, 
let  us  speak  as  friends,  who  understand  each  other.  Or  do  you 
prefer  that  I  shall  meet  you  upon  your  own  ground  of  satirical 
innuendo  ?" 

"As  friends,  Miss  Ida!  you  have  proved  that  the  name  is  not 
meaningless.     But  we  do  not  understand  each  other." 
"We  did!"  said  she. 

"  Partially.  You  have  risen — I  fallen  in  the  scale  of  being, 
since  then.  Your  conduct  to  my  unhappy  sister,  has  imposed  a 
debt  of  gratitude  upon  us — upon  me,  especially,  which  words 
cannot  liquidate.  This  is  the  one  subject  of  mutual  interest  to 
Helen  and  myself.  She  is,  in  effect,  a  cloistered  nun;  an 
unsmiling  ascetic; — atoning  for  the  sins  of  youth  by  penances 
and  alms.  This  phase  of  piety  is  the  larvae  stage,  I  imagine, 
Miss  Ross?"  A  grieved  look  answered  the  sneer.  "Pardon 
me  !  if  your  charity  can  make  allowance  for  one,  who  has  become 
a  doubter  from  extraneous  influences,  rather  than  nature.  Helen 
and  myself  have  never  exchanged  a  word,  except  upon  common- 
place topics,  during  her  widowhood,  until  three  days  ago.  I 
had  avowed  my  implacable  hatred  of  her  lover  in  her  hearing. 
Other  members  of  the  family,  have  caught  stray  rumors  here  and 
there,— sent  out,  doubtless,  by  Miss  Read  ;  but  their  unbelief  in 
them  being  settled  by  my  silence,  and  Helen's  apparent  affliction, 
they  have  not  noticed  them  except  by  a  passing  denial.  But 
Helen  knew  that  I  watched  her,  and  her  surveillance  of  me  was 
as  jealously  vigilant.  I  have  seen  her  face  blanch  in  an  agony 
of  alarm  at  my  quitting  her  for  an  hour ;  and  the  most  tender 
sister  never  wept  and  prayed  for  a  brother's  return,  as  she  did 
30* 


354  ALONE. 

for  mine.  I  should  not  have  been  here  now,  but  for  intelligence, 
received  a  week  since,  of  Ashlin's  death." 

"  Death !"  ejaculated  Ida,  horrified.  How  had  the  "  bold, 
bad  man"  gone  to  his  account  ?  Where  was  he  now  ? 

"  He  was  killed  in  a  duel  in  Bourdeaux,"  said  Richard,  coolly. 
"  The  villain  escaped  a  less  honorable  fate  by  flight.  Devoted 
as  Helen  was  to  him,  the  news  was  a  relief, — removing  as  it  did, 
her  apprehensions  of  our  meeting.  So  much  for  her.  Thus  ends 
the  last  chapter  of  that  tragedy!"  His  countenance  lost  its 
Ditter  scorn. 

"  Miss  Ida — before  I  met  you,  I  never  feared  to  speak  what 
was  in  my  thoughts.  Policy  or  compassion  may  have  deterred 
me — but  cowardice  never  !  I  believed  I  had  read  every  page  in 
man's  or  woman's  heart,  and  could  flutter  them  with  a  breath. 
5Tou  were  a  study,  taken  up  in  curiosity,  and  baffling  me  by  its 
very  simplicity.  You  furnished  me  with  a  clue ;  but  my  skepti- 
cism cast  it  aside — to  seek  it  again,  and  admit  its  efficacy  in  a 
solitary  instance.  Ingenuous  in  word  and  deed — you  had  yet, 
a  hidden  history.  I  felt  it  then,  vaguely — not  able  to  tell  from 
whence  the  consciousness  sprung.  Can  it  be  that  virtue  thrives 
only  in  the  shade  1" 

He  stopped  again.  Ida's  face  was  crimsoning  slowly  with 
confusion  and  suspense. 

"It  must  be  said  I"  resumed  he,  desperately.  "I  may  probe 
a  wound,  or  touch  a  callous  heart.  Miss  Ross !  will  you  state  to 
me  candidly,  the  character  of  your  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Lacy  ?" 

Ida's  tongue  was  palsied.  She  would  have  given  her  estate 
for  power  to  say — «  He  was  my  friend •"  but  it  was  denied. 

"  Then  bear  with  me  awhile.  The  evening  of  our  introduction, 
I  imparted  to  you  the  information  of  Lelia  Arnold's  engage- 
ment; and  your  deprecation  of  her  trifling  seemed  only  the 
detestation  of  a  pure  and  upright  soul.  If  I  saw  mournful  pity 
in  the  eyes,  which  were  often  riveted  by  her  beauty,  I  suspected 
no  more.  Before  leaving  Richmond,  I  heard  that  he  had  been — 
perhaps  was  then  your  lover  : — the  direction  of  your  preference 
was  not  known.  In  my  superior  sagacity,  I  opined  that  my 
friend  Germaine  was  his  fortunate  rival.  Your  rejection  of  his 
suit  recalled  the  gossip  I  had  not  thought  worth  remembering 


ALONE.  355 

Lelia  was  Helen's  confidante ;  knew  of  her  betrothal  to  Ashlin, 
and  surmised,  if  she  was  not  informed  of  the  rupture,  when  it 
occurred.  After  Mr.  Read's  death,  my  mother  mentioned  inci- 
dentally, that  her  influence  had  been  exerted  to  the  utmost,  to 
persuade  her  friend  to  accept  him.  Until  I  heard  that,  I  had 
laughed  at  her  snares  to  entangle  me — the  only  man,  it  was 
said,  who  was  invulnerable  to  her  arts.  I  despised  her  before, 
I  hated  her  now ;  yet  the  county  rung  with  acclamations  over 
my  capture;  and  the  fair  Lelia,  in  her  exultation,  was  beguiled 
into  an  impolitic  show  of  tenderness.  I  have  her  picture,  her 
ring,  her  letters.  I  could  dash  them  into  the  sea,  without  a 
pang,  and  would  plunge  after  them,  sooner  than  marry  her.  I 
designed  a  punishment  for  her  falsehood  in  friendship  and  love ; 
but  all  the  while,  was  haunted  with  an  indefinite  thought  that 
you  were  to  be  affected  by  the  result.  If  your  lover  had  been 
wiled  away  by  her  machinations,  or  more  likely — if  she  had 
played  upon  his  imagination  and  sense  of  honor,  in  an  unguarded 
hour — I  could  free  him.  I  intended  to  see  you,  and  tell  you 
this,  but  Helen  hastened  the  execution  of  the  plot.  Breaking 
our  accustomed  reserve,  she  implored  me  to  quiet  her  fears 
touching  my  marriage.  A  glimmering  of  Lelia' s  treachery  had 
penetrated  her  mind ; — she  mistrusted  that  she  was  playing  me 
false,  and  that  she  had  deceived  others.  I  struck  a  key,  which 
I  knew  would  give  a  true  sound — her  love  for  you.  She  had 
heard  your  name  coupled  with  his,  she  said ;  and  once,  a  direct 
assertion  of  your  attachment  for  him,  but  it  was  from  lying  lips. 
If  I  have  wearied  and  displeased  you,  intimate  it.  If  not — 
here  are  the  proofs  to  secure  you  revenge  or  happiness.  Say  the 
word,  and  the  dupe  is  enlightened.  She  will  not  suffer  more, 
that  you  connive  at  her  disgrace.  Her  mortification  will  be 
public,  and  is  inevitable.  Where  is  Mr.  Lacy  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  and  would  not  tell  you  if  I  did  I"  cried  Ida. 
"  If  I  were  dying  of  a  broken  heart,  I  would  refuse  the  healing 
your  cold-blooded  scheme  offered.  She  may  be — I  believe  her 
unworthy  of  him;  but  when  he  sought  her,  he  was  shackled  by 
no  vows  to  me.  He  is  not  a  vain  boy,  to  be  flattered  into  a 
courtship  !  if  duped,  she  has  cruelly  deceived  the  noblest  heart 
that  ever  beat.  I  honor  him  more  for  not  discovering  her  snare, 


356  ALONE. 

than  you,  for  mastering  her  in  duplicity.  No  !  Mr.  Copeland  I 
I  have  no  wrongs  to  avenge  upon  him  or  her — nor  is  it  your 
prerogative,  to  retaliate  for  your,  or  your  sister's  injuries.  We 
do  not  understand  each  other  !  You  impute  traits  to  me,  which 
the  weakest  of  my  sex  would  blush  to  own  ;  and  I  thought  you 
generous — high-minded  !  '  Fallen,'  indeed  I"  Her  voice  shook, 
and  her  head  sank  upon  the  table.  The  man  of  the  world  was 
confounded.  The  lofty  tone  of  her  principles  lowered  his  plotted 
vengeance  into  unmanly  spite. 

He  had  been  incited  to  it  by  the  low  standard  of  the  sex, 
his  sister's  and  her  associate's  conduct  had  set  up  in  his  mind ; 
and  a  desire  to  betray  the  baseness  of  the  currency  the  accom- 
plished coquette  was  passing  off  upon  society — backed  by  a 
justifiable  displeasure  at  the  evils  of  which  she  was  the  author. 

"I  am  to  understand  that  you  disdain  my  offer  to  serve  you?" 
he  said,  rising. 

She  looked  up.  "  To  serve  me !  how  thankfully  I  would  avail 
myself  of  such  !  I  was  hasty — unkind  !  Do  not  go  yet !" 

He  sat  down.  » It  is  all  so  confused  I"  she  said,  apologeti- 
cally. "  You  are  engaged  to  Lelia  Arnold,  and  do  not  love  her  : 
— yet  you  must  have  told  her  that  you  did  I" 

He  colored,  and  did  not  reply. 

"You  are  meditating  a  punishment  for  her — what  has  she 
done  that  you  have  not '{" 

"  Falsehood — unprovoked  falsehood  is  viler  in  a  woman  I 
was  driven  to  it." 

11  Viler  in  a  woman — more  despicable  in  a  man  !  You  should 
be  above  the  petty  vanity  and  ambition,  that  if  cultivated,  root 
up  our  better  feelings.  Selfishness,  love  of  admiration,  find  in 
your  case,  pique,  actuated  her; — you  have  the  bare  pica  of 
malice  I" 

"  Miss  Ross !  malice  !" 

"Examine,  and  say  if  it  is  not  so.  Punishment,  in  this 
world,  has  cure  for  its  object.  Was  this  yours?  or  was  it  that 
she  might  endure  the  pain  she  had  inflicted  upon  others  ?" 

"  Call  it  retribution." 

"  There  is  but  one  Retributive  Being.  He  says  <  Vengeance 
is  mine  !'  " 


ALONE.  357 

"You  are  unsophisticated,  Miss  Ida.  Your  maxims  are 
obsolete  in  the  polity  of  the  age." 

»  Because  they  are  extracts  from  a  changeless  code.  I  am 
serious,  Mr.  Copeland.  Your  conscience  assures  you  that  you 
are  in  the  wrong;  that  you  have  acted  childishly — sinfully. 
That  another  debases  God's  gifts,  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
sully  the  fine  gold  of  your  heart.  You  have  committed  this 
outrage,  or  you  could  not  talk  of  the  sweetness  of  revenge." 

«  And  /  am  serious,  Miss  Ida.  Unjust,  as  you  say  I  have 
been  to  myself,  I  have  the  manliness  to  recognise  the  superiority 
of  a  character — the  antipodes  of  mine.  I  repeat,  I  regret  my 
inability  to  serve  you.  Good  evening." 

"Are  you  going  thus  ?   What  if  we  never  meet  again?" 

"  We  part  friends.  Your  reproaches,  cutting  as  they  were, 
have  not  diminished  my  esteem." 

She  could  extort  nothing  more  satisfactory.  He  would  make 
no  concessions — tender  no  pledges.  Large  tears  gathered  and 
dropped,  as  she  beheld  him  mount  and  ride  away  ;  and  other 
emotions  than  grief  at  her  ill-success  sent  tributaries  to  the  stream. 

They  prate  senselessly  who  speak  of  forgotten  loves  or  woes. 
As  in  neglected  grave-yards,  briars  and  weeds  spring  up,  and 
delude  the  eye  with  the  semblance  of  a  smooth  field,  but  when 
levelled  to  the  roots,  show  the  mounds  they  grow  upon ; — so 
above  buried  feelings,  may  wave  memories  and  affections  of  later 
years — until  some  unforeseen  event  cuts,  like  a  sickle-blade, 
through  their  ranks,  and  we  see,  with  tears,  as  of  fresh  bereave- 
ment, the  graves  there  still !  Ida's  was  a  brave  spirit,  but  it 
trembled  after  the  temptation  was  withdrawn.  Richard  had, 
unknowingly,  been  guilty  of  great  cruelty  in  breaking  the  seal  of 
her  heart's  closed  chamber.  Gingerly  as  he  had  handled  its 
precious  things,  he  had  caused  exquisite  pain;  and  for  hours  and 
days,  she  felt  that  the  door  would  not  shut  again.  It  was  hard 
to  smile — hard  to  concert  plans  for  the  future  welfare  of  others, 
when  before  her,  was  blank  darkness.  But  the  whirling  chaos 
was  cleared  and  tranquillised  in  time;  and  even  Emma  was 
ignorant  of  the  storm. 

On  the  fifteenth  of  October,  the  heiress  of  Sunnybank  would 
count  her  twenty-first  birth  day.  The  oldest  negroes  testified 


358  ALONE. 

that  it  had  been  the  custom  in  the  Ross  family,  for  an  hundred 
years,  to  signalise  such  occasions  with  appropriate  festivities  j 
and  Ida  waived  her  wishes  for  a  quiet  visit  from  her  friends  ;  and 
tried  to  be  as  much  interested  in  the  proposed  illumination  and 
feast  as  if  she  were  not  the  personage  to  be  honoured.  She 
worked  more  willingly  when  the  Danas  wrote  that  they  were  all 
coming,  the  Saturday  before  the  fifteenth,  which  fell  on  Tuesday. 
Emma's  scholars  had  a  vacation  of  four  weeks ;  and  Laura  Finely 
was  at  the  house  most  of  her  time.  The  two  vied  with  each  other 
in  the  number  and  elegance  of  the  decorations  of  the  premises. 

"  What  upon  earth  I"  exclaimed  Ida,  stumbling  over  a  heap 
of  green  boughs  in  the  back  porch.  Both  girls  screamed — 
"  Oh  !  take  care  1"  Ida  sat  down  upon  a  bench,  and  untwisted 
a  long  streamer  of  running  cedar  from  her  ancle. 

«  What  is  this  for  ?" 

"  To  dress  the  pictures  and  looking-glasses,"  said  Emma. 

"  And  to  festoon  upon  the  walls,"  chimed  in  Laura. 

"And  loop  up  bed  and  window-curtains/'  finished  Emma. 

« My  dear  girls !  if  the  President  and  suit  were  expected, 
your  preparations  would  not  be  more  formidable.  Why  trouble 
yourselves  so  much  ?" 

"  Trouble !  you  never  incommode  yourself  for  other  people ! 
oh  no !"  replied  Emma,  in  severe  irony. 

"We  love  the  bustle  and  excitement  of  fixing,"  said  Laura. 

"  And  what  is  there  for  me  to  do  ?"  questioned  Ida,  stooping 
over  the  pile. 

"  Nothing  !  you  are  to  play  lady  and  hold  your  hands.  It  is 
difficult,  because  unusual  work — but  please  try !"  laughed  Laura. 

Miss  Betsey  came  along,  with  a  rueful  face.  "  Miss  Ida — 
there's  a  dozen  loaves  of  cake,  and  ever  so  many  snow-balls  wont 
get  in  the  big  sideboard,  no  how  I" 

"  Put  them  in  the  light  closet,  Miss  Betsey.  I  hope  we  shall 
be  able  to  eat  it  all !"  she  continued  to  the  girls. 

"  Never  fear !"  said  Emma.  "  Your  Richmond  party  could 
consume  it  in  a  week.  How  many  are  there  ?" 

"  Let  me  see  !  Arthur,  Carry  and  my  pet — three — Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Dana,  three  children  and  Charley — nine.  They  will  be 
Here  to-morrow  night — Ellen  Morris,  Monday  or  Tuesday.  I 


A  L  o  x  i: .  359 

have  invited  Anna  Talbot  and  Josephine — but  do  not  expect 
them.  Then  for  Tuesday  evening — from  the  neighborhood — 
Dr.  Hall  and  lady — and  a  friend,  who  shall  be  nameless — " 
pinching  Emma's  cheek — "  the  Strattons — Kingstons — Frenches 
— and  oh  !  I  gave  Charley  carte-blanche  to  ask  any  of  my  Rich- 
mond acquaintances — and  all  for  what  ?  To  hear  that  Miss  Ida 
Ross  is  — " 

" '  Free,  white,  and  twenty-one  !'  "  sang  Emma,  cheerily. 

"  Twenty-one  !  in  four  years,  I  shall  be  a  spinster  of  a  quarter 
of  a  century  !  Heigho  !"  She  said  it  jestingly ;  but  at  nightfall, 
she  was  pacing  the  porch  alone — Laura  having  gone  home,  and 
Enima  asleep,  wearied  by  her  day's  activity ;  and  the  thought, 
returned  to  her.  Twenty-one !  the  golden  sands  were  slipping 
fast.  The  sky-meeting  waves  upon  the  horizon  no  longer  blushed 
with  sunset  dyes,  and  nodded  their  bright  crests,  in  luring 
welcome;  her  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  regular  swell  of  the 
Present,  as  she  glided  over  it.  The  navigation  of  the  unknown 
seas  beyond,  she  trusted  to  the  Pilot,  who  had  engaged  to  see 
her  safely  to  the  desired  haven.  It  was  a  holy,  still  hour. 

Her  swift  step  scarcely  broke  the  silence — the  firm,  elastic 
tread  cf  youth  and  health ; — and  an  unruffled  spirit  was  within ; 
— a  fulness  of  contentment  and  peace  the  world  could  not  disturb 
or  take  away.  She  had  conned  that  invaluable  lesson — "  It  is 
better  to  trust  than  to  hope/' 

«  A  letter,  ma'am — no  papers,"  said  Will,  sententiously. 

"  Thank  you,  uncle  Will.  Tell  James  to  bring  a  lamp  into 
the  parlor,  if  you  please.  I  almost  dread  to  open  this  !"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  My  fears  are  always  on  the  alert,  to  forebode 
evil  to  those  I  love.  I  will  be  courageous — will  have  faith  I" 
and  she  walked  resolutely  into  the  lighted  room.  But  the  super- 
scription sent  a  tremor  to  her  heart — a  minute  elapsed  before 
she  opened  it. 

THE  LETTER. 

» I  have  come  home  alone,  dear  friend,  leaving  our  Annie 
asleep  in  a  foreign  land.  Her  day  of  suffering  closed  in  ease 
and  peace ;  her  '  good  night'  was  as  calm,  as  though  she  were 
sinking  into  a  slumber  of  hours,  instead  of  ages.  A  lonely, 


360  ALONE 

stricken  man,  I  retraced  the  route  we  had  travelled  in  company, 
to  find  that  I  had  never  indeed  missed  and  mourned  her,  until 
I  saw  her  empty  chamber  at  home.  Here —  '  I  cannot  make 
her  dead  !'  Oh  !  the  desolation  of  that  word,  when  applied  to 
one,  in  whose  veins  ran  the  same  blood  as  in  ours,  who  lived  and 
loved  with  us — partaker  of  our  individuality  !  As  love  is 
immortal,  we  would  believe  the  frail  clay  to  which  it  clings, 
imperishable  too.  But  in  our  grief,  there  is  a  mingling  of  praise 
that  her  rest  is  safe — that  a  merciful  Father  is  also  wise,  and 
will  not,  in  answer  to  our  selfish  lamentations,  restore  her  to  an 

existence  replete  with  pain. 

#*##**# 

"  The  date  of  the  above — a  month  back — may  surprise  you. 
I  wrote  a  fortnight  after  I  touched  my  native  shore ;  contem- 
plating such  a  letter  as  one  friend  might  send  to  another ; — 
to  inform  you  of  my  bereavement,  and  solicit  the  sympathy 
none  ever  ask  in  vain  from  you.  I  was  interrupted  to  read  a 
sommunication  which  has  changed — not  the  tenor  of  this  alone, 
but  the  current  of  all  my  anticipations.  It  was  from  Miss 
Arnold  ;  an  annulment  of  the  contract  between  us ;  a  step,  she 
says,  foreseen  from  an  early  period  of  our  engagement,  when  she 
discovered  that  the  heart,  she  thought  she  had  surrendered  to 
me,  was  wholly  another's.  I  omit  much  that  would  be  uninte- 
resting to  you;  and  which,  in  honour,  I  ought  not  to  trans- 
cribe. Briefly  then — the  facts  stand  thus.  She  never  loved  me  ; 
and  when  the  owner  of  her  heart  sued  for  her  hand,  she  pledged 
it,  and  asked  for  a  release  from  her  previous  vow.  I  have  no 
inclination  to  animadvert  upon  her  course — singular  and  incon- 
sistent as  it  has  been  throughout — but  am  obliged  to  refer  to 
certain  particulars,  to  make  clear  the  explanation  which  follows. 

"  I  have  told  you,  Ida,  that  my  attentions,  from  the  begin- 
ning of  our  intercourse,  until  my  conviction  of  your  betrothal, 
were  correct  exponents  of  my  feelings.  I  cannot  deny  that 
when  compelled  to  acknowledge  the  uselessness  of  my  efforts,  I 
judged  you  harshly — was  tempted  to  believe  you  an  unprincipled 
trifler  with  my  hopes,  and  the  truth  of  your  accepted  lover.  As 
my  indignation  and  disappointment  cooled  before  mature  reflec- 
tion, my  faith  in  your  sterling  integrity  revived. 


ALONE.  3G1 

"  Not  a  word  had  escaped  ine  which  Friendship  might  not 
have  dictated;  and  your  manner  to  me  was  less  confidingly 
affectionate  than  to  Charley.  You  regarded  me  as  a  brother; 
and  if  in  that  capacity,  any  act  or  word  of  mine  could  conduce 
to  your  happiness  it  should  not  be  withheld.  Your  committal 
of  your  lover's  cause  to  me  was  a  powerful  appeal  to  every 
generous  feeling.  I  solemnly  resolved  then,  that  you  should 
never  regret  your  implicit  trust.  At  his  death-bed,  my  thought 
was  for  you  and  him;  at  his  grave,  as  I  upheld  your  sinking 
form — my  heart  answering  the  heavings  of  yours,  in  our  common 
sorrow — I  renewed  the  promise  never  to  desecrate  the  purity  of 
your  friendship,  by  a  breath  of  a  love,  demanding  reciprocation 
in  that  which  had  gone  down  with  him  into  the  tomb.  In  this 
illusion,  I  came  home.  You  know  whom  I  met  here ;  and  that 
her  surpassing  loveliness,  her  apparent  artlessness  and  amiability 
captivated  us  all.  Annie  loved  her  fervently,  and  threw  us 
together  by  many  innocent  manoeuvres — Dear  girl !  it  was  the 
blameless  impulse  of  a  loving  heart — to  unite  two,  who  seemed 
to  her  hopeful  perceptions  to  be  destined  for  each  other.  I  was 
amused  at  her  fancy — then  uneasy,  lest  it  should  be  a  restriction 
upon  Miss  Arnold's  kindly  feelings  for  the  brother  of  her  friend. 
I  could  not  wound  Annie  by  reproof  or  caution ;  so,  after  a 
while,  descrying  in  Miss  Arnold's  demeanor,  a  touch  of  the 
dreaded  embarrassment,  I  introduced  the  subject  in  a  tone  of 
light  badinage.  I  may  not  describe  the  interview  ; — my  senti- 
ments and  bearing  had  been  utterly  misconstrued.  She  did  not 
express  this  in  words,  but  her  perturbation  was  unmistakeable.  I 
reflected  upon  this  unlooked-for  disclosure  with  no  enviable 
emotions.  I  was  free ;  no  hope  ventured  to  point  to  you ;  and  I 
might  learn  to  love  the  beautiful,  tender  creature,  whom  I  had 
unintentionally  deceived.  In  honour — in  conscience — in  huma- 
nity— what  could  I  do,  but  tell  her  that,  although  not  offering 
the  deep  tenderness  of  a  first  love  I  would  cherish  her  as  faith- 
fully, if  not  as  fondly,  as  man  ever  did  the  woman  he  wooed 
and  won  ?  I  cannot  dwell  upon  the  untold  anguish  of  the  moment 
when  the  fallacy  of  my  impressions  and  reasonings  was  exposed. 
The  tempter  was  at  my  ear.  Violation  of  my  plighted  word — 
the  downfall  of  her  hopes  wero  nothing !  the  barrier  which 
31 


362  ALONE. 

parted  us  was  down — the  impossibility  of  our  union  was  a 
chimera,  dissolving  in  the  beams  of  truth.  You  saved  me  !  look- 
ing away  from  our  divided  lives,  you  reminded  me  that  duty 
here  writes  our  title-deeds  to  reward  hereafter — and  I  submitted 
to  the  decree. 

"  Now — dear  Ida  ! — but  the  rush  of  hope  ebbs  suddenly  The 
thought  that  flew  towards  you,  the  moment  I  was  freed — now, 
that  the  slow  weeks  I  allotted  to  rigid  self-examination  have 
rolled  by — spreads  its  wings  as  eagerly  still — but — you  ? 

"  What  was  I  to  you  ?  what  may  I  hope  to  be  ?  I  have  ascer- 
tained that  you  are  unmarried — are  you  heart-free  ?  May  I  come 
to  you  ?  Dare  I  say — reply  at  once  ?  I  would  not  wring  from 
you  a  hasty  decision,  but  remember  my  suspense.  May  every 
blessing  be  yours ! 

MOETON  LACY." 


ALONE.  305 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

MR.  Grant,  wife  and  sister-in-law  were  "  dear,  nice  old  folks," 
who  liked  to  see  young  people  enjoy  themselves,  prim  and  staid 
'though  they  were;  and  they  had  their  fill  of  delight,  that 
important  Saturday;  for  three  merrier  mad-caps  Sunnybank 
never  held.  Ida  was  the  ringleader  in  the  mirthful  frolic. 

"  She's  so  pleased  'cause  Mars'  Charles  is  comin',"  said 
Rachel,  in  a  pretended  "  aside"  to  Emma  and  Laura ;  and  Ida 
laughed,  instead  of  reproving  the  gratuitous  explanation.  « I  do 
want  to  see  Charley — Bless  him  !"  said  she. 

"  Is  he  a  very  dear  friend  ?"  asked  Laura. 

«  Very  dear  !"  Ida  emphasized  as  strongly ; — "  almost  on  a 
par  with  Carry.  We  will  have  fun  while  he  is  here ;"  and  she 
launched  into  a  recital  of  some  of  his  freaks  and  stories ;  elicit- 
ing bursts  of  nuerriment  from  her  listeners,  which  pealed  even 
to  the  door  of  Miss  Betsey's  room,  and  hurried  Mrs.  Grant  down 
stairs,  "  to  hear  what  the  joke  was."  The  girls  were  upon  the 
carpet  in  the  middle  of  the  large  parlor,  cutting  pink  and  white 
paper  roses.  The  graceful  running  cedar,  they  were  to  enliven, 
draped  the  walls,  and  'hid  the  tarnished  mouldings  of  the  old 
portrait  frames ; — geraniums  and  mignionette  breathed  sweetly 
through  the  parted  muslin  curtains ;  but  nothing  was  so  fair  in 
the  dame's  eyes  as  the  centre  group.  Laura  was  a  brunette — 
black  eyes,  nectarine  bloom  and  pouting  rosy  lips — the  hand- 
somest of  the  trio ;  Emma's  dove-like  eyes,  classic  oval  face  and 
varying  complexion  placed  her  next.  Ida  sat  between  them, 
speaking  with  much  animation  of  voice  and  action — the  glee  of 
a  child,  and  the  modulations  of  a  clever  elocutionist. 

"  Well !"  said  Mrs.  Grant,  when  the  narration  was  ended,  « if 
you  all  aint  a  happy  set,  I'll  give  up  my  judgment !" 

«  Don't  do  that,  I  beg  !"  said  Ida.  «  We  need  it  this  minute, 
to  tell  us  whether  to  mix  these  roses  in  the  wreaths,  or  to  dress 
this  room  with  white  ones,  and  the  dining-room  with  pink." 

Mrs.  Grant  set  her  head  to  one  side,  and  her  hand  upon  her 


364  ALONE. 

hip.     It  was  a  serious  question.     "  Well,  I  don't  know  exactly 
Either  way's  very  pretty.     What  do  you  say  ?" 

"  Oh !  but  we  agreed  to  leave  it  to  you.  White  ones  look 
best  by  lamplight." 

"  So  they  do !  Well  'spose  you  put  them  in  here,  as  the 
party  meets  in  the  parlor." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am.      I  am  of  the  same  opinion  myself/' 

"And  I" —  "and  I"  —  said  the  others;  and  Mrs.  Grant, 
pleased  at  having,  for  once  in  her  life,  expressed  a  decided 
opinion,  "  reckoned  Becky  and  Molly  wouldn't  beat  them  beds 
half  enough  if  she  didn't  follow  them  up." 

The  impromptu  "rose  case,"  upon  which  Emma  and  Laura 
rallied  Ida,  was  finished  before  dinner ;  and  resolving  themselves 
into  a  "  committee  of  inspection,"  they  visited  every  room  in 
a  body,  with  Miss  Betsey  and  Mrs.  Grant  as  rear  guard.  Even 
the  wainscotted  chambers  were  cheerful — snow-drifts  of  beds — 
and  window-hangings  lined  with  pink — stainless  toilette  covers  j 
painted  bouquets  upon  the  fire-screens,  and  real  ones  upon  the 
dressing-tables. 

"  Sunnybank  deserves  its  name  to-day,"  said  Emma,  leading 
Ida  to  a  window. 

The  October  sun  was  everywhere ;  playing  with  the  laughing 
cascade  which  fell  over  the  rock,  at  the  foot  of  the  sloping  lawn  j 
carpeting  the  forest  with  tesselated  gold ;  and  the  sheen  of  Ida's 
pine-grove  was  as  of  millions  of  burnished  needles. 

"  It  is  brighter  here  !"  said  Ida,  laying  her  friend's  hand 
upon  her  breast. 

"  You  need  not  say  so  ; — your  smile  shows  it.  It  is  like 
sunshine  itself." 

"  Shall  I  tell  her  ?"  thought  Ida.  "  Not  yet !  he  will  be  here 
in  a  few  days — and  then  I" — and  the  heart-bound  threw  the 
blood,  in  a  scarlet  gush  to  her  cheeks. 

Love  like  hers  is  never  selfish.  When  they  were  separating 
to  dress,  she  called  Laura  into  her  room.  Two  dresses — a 
rose-coloured  challe",  and  a  white  muslin  were  upon  the  bod. 
"No  thanks,  dear!"  she  said,  as  the  delighted  creature  claspr  i 
her  arms  about  her  neck,  in  speechless  gratitude.  "  You,  who 
do  so  much  forme  and  mine,  deserve  some  token  of  repir' 


ALONE.  365 

What !  tears !  Dry  them  instantly,  and  try  your  dresses.  Ah  ! 
they  fit !  I  thought  we  were  nearly  the  same  size, — so  had 
them  cut  by  my  patterns.  Emma  !  step  in  here  !  Are  we  not 
proud  of  our  pupil  ?" 

"  She  does  not  require  fine  rpbes  to  win  praise  from  me/' 
said  Emma.  "  How  handsome  and  becoming  !  just,  what  one 
might  expect  from  the  donor." 

"  She  is  the  best,  dearest  friend  I  have" — began  Laura,  smil- 
ing through  her  tears. 

"Hush  I"  said  Ida,  threateningly.  "Flatterers!  both  of  you  1 
be  off  and  <  beautify'  as  Charley  says.  And  Laura — do  you 
hear  ?  don't  have  eyes  and  dress  to  match  !  a  contrast  is  better." 

The  main  part  of  Sunnybank  house  was  capped  by  a  sort  of 
belvidere,  accessible  by  steps  from  the  garret.  Why  it  had  been 
built  was  one  of  Ida's  childish  studies ;  and  the  acquisition  of 
other  knowledge  was  no  help  to  the  elucidation  of  this  mystery. 
Emma  said  the  founder  of  the  mansion  had  an  astronomical 
turn,  and  used  it  as  an  observatory; — Laura,  that  it  was  a 
belfry,  from  which  the  alarm-bell  was  sounded  to  collect  the 
surrounding  settlers,  when  an  incursion  was  made  by  the  sava- 
ges; Ida's  more  matter-of-fact  belief  was  that  her  ancestor  had 
more  fondness  than  taste  for  ornamental  architecture,  and  so 
planned  this  tuft  to  the  conical  crown  of  his  habitation.  On  the 
birth-night,  this  was  to  be  illuminated ;  the  brackets  were  pre- 
pared, and  some  of  the  candles  in  the  sockets.  Nearer  and  faster 
descended  the  darkness.  Aunt  Judy  fidgeted  from  the  kitchen 
to  the  house,  and  from  the  house  to  the  kitchen,  in  mortal  fear 
for  the  credit  of  her  supper.  Miss  Betsey  prognosticated  upset- 
tings  and  wheel -breakings,  and  "hoped  the  horses  were  sure- 
footed. That  hill,  the  other  side  of  Tim's  Creek  was  awful  of 
a  dark  night." 

"I  say,  girls !"  exclaimed  Ida,  "  we  will  light  the  belvidere  ! 
They  can  see  it  six  miles  off.  Anything  but  idle  waiting  I" 

She  was  to  stand  in  the  yard,  and  direct  the  disposition  of  the 

lights — Laura,  Emma  and  Will,  who  thought  no  whim  of  his 

"  mistis"  absurd,  ascended  to  the  roof.     The  breeze  was  at  rest ; 

and  the  rays  shot  forth,  clear  and  straight,  down  the  avenue, 

31* 


366  ALONE. 

magnifying  the  proportions  of  the  fantastic  roof.  The  others 
came  out  to  admire  the  effect  with  her. 

«  Hist  1"  said  she.     «  Music  I" 

But  there  was  not  a  sound. 

"  I  heard  it — I  know  \"  said  she,  positively.  Come  into  the 
porch." 

Another  note  was  repeated  by  the  hills.  "  I  said  so !  they 
are  coming — singing !  Isn't  that  like  Charley  ?"  She  distin- 
guished voices  as  they  approached; — Carry's  soft  alto;  Mrs 
Dana's  soprano, — "  Arthur — yes  !  that  is  his  tenor — and  Mr. 
Dana  and  Charley  have  the  base !" 

"The  tune  changes  !"  said  Emma.  "Auld  Lang  Syne — oh  ! 
how  sweet  I" 

Ida's  eyes  were  streaming, — her  heart  aching  with  joy.  The 
carriages — two — and  a  buggy,  drove  up  to  the  door ;  and  with  a 
scream  of  rapture  she  lifted  Carry  to  the  ground, — not  knowing 
who  came  next — only  that  they  were  all  there.  All !  no !  where 
was  Charley?  She  stopped  upon  the  steps;  Elle  holding  to  her 
dress;  one  hand  in  Carry's,  the  other  upon  her  guardian's  arm. 

"  Charley  !  where  are  you  ?" 

"  Here  !"  with  a  muster-roll  intonation.  He  raised  her 
fingers  to  his  lips — an  unprecedented  action  with  him — and 
holding  them  still,  looked  over  his  shoulder.  "  Here  is  a  gen- 
tleman who  is  afraid  you  will  shut  your  doors  upon  him,  for 
coming  without  a  special  invitation/' 

"  Mr.  Germaine  I"  thought  Ida,  fearfully ; — but  his  was  not 
the  figure  that  emerged  from  the  shade, — nor  the  warm  grasp,  in 
which  Charley,  with  a  movement  full  of  grace  and  feeling,  placed 
her  hand ; — nor  his  the  voice  that  said — « I  do  not  doubt  her 
hospitality,  but  my  deserts." 

"  Do  you  forget  your  friends,  that  you  expect  a  similar  fate, 
Mr.  Lacy?"  said  Ida. 

His  actual  presence  was  the  roseleaf  upon  the  mantling  cup 
of  bliss.  It  did  not  overflow ; — tumultuating  passions  were  stilled 
into  a  calm,  delicious  ecstacy.  She  was  more  composed  than 
she  had  been  at  any  time  since  the  reading  of  the  letter, — saw 
everything,  thought  of  everybody.  Carry  and  Emma  went  up 
stairs  arm  in  arm,  and  Ida,  her  baby  namesake,  folded  to  her 


ALONE.  367 

heart,  was  following  Mrs.  Dana,  when  she  recollected  Laura. 
She  was  standing,  alone  and  overlooked,  in  the  hall. 

"Here,  Laura!  I  confide  my  darling  to  your  keeping. 
Gently !  don't  wake  her.  Is  she  not  a  lovely  babe  ?" 

"  Beautiful  I"  said  Laura,  in  proud  gratification. 

The  sleepy  childrens'  suppers  were  brought  up,  and  they 
were  snug  in  bed  before  their  elders  were  prepared  for  their 
meal.  The  gentlemen  were  in  the  yard,  looking  at  the  belvidere. 

"  Your  beacon  puzzled  us  considerably/'  said  Charley  to  Ida. 
"  It  appeared  to  be  upon  the  summit  of  a  huge,  shapeless  height. 
We  thought  we  had  lost  our  road  and  wandered  off  to  the 
Enchanted  Mountains." 

"Or  that  a  remnant  of  Grhebers  had  an  asylum  among  these 
hills,"  said  Mr.  Lacy.  "  You  should  have  heard  Charley's 

'  Fierce  and  bigh 

The  death-pile  blazed  into  the  sky, 
And  far  away,  o'er  rock  and  flood, 
Its  melancholy  radiance  sent !' " 

"Was  I  the  only  rhapsodizer ?"  retorted  Charley.  "Who 
said,  when  a  figure  passed  before  the  light — 

'  Hafed,  like  a  vision,  stood 
Eevealed  before  the  burning  pyre, 
Tall,  shadowy,  like  a  Spirit  of  Fire, 
Shrined  in  its  own  grand  element?'" 

"  Why,  that  was  uncle  Will !"  exclaimed  Emma. 

Amid  the  burst  of  laughter  that  replied,  Charley  pronounced 
poetry — "  done." 

"  And  having  descended  to  real  life,  perhaps  you  do  not  object 
to  more  substantial  food,"  said  Ida.  On  the  way  to  the  house, 
some  one  took  her  hand. 

"  Has  my  impatience  offended  ?  I  could  not  wait !"  said  a 
hasty  whisper. 

"No." 

"Am  I  welcome?" 

"In  every  sense  of  the  word,"  was  the  ingenuous  response. 
This  was  their  plighting. 

The  sun  was  not  up,  when  Ida  raised  the  parlor  windows  next 

morning.     Above  the  dun  zone  of  forest,  rested  another,  oi 

.  silvery  grey  vapor,  and  higher,  legions  of  fleecy  cloudlets,  from 


ALONE. 

all  parts  of  the  heavens,  hung  motionless,  as  angels  may  hover, 
in  rapt  adoration,  over  the  crystal  walls  of  the  New  Jerusalem. 
He  arose  !  the  "  bridegroom  of  earth  and  brother  of  time  !"  and 
her  simile  changed — as  assuming  roseate  and  golden  robes,  the 
expectant  host  wove  themselves  into  a  gorgeous  causeway,  by 
which  he  seemed  to  mount  the  heavens.  So  "Jesus  left  the 
dead  I"  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  burst  His  prison  gates ;  and 
the  shining  ones  sang  the  consummation  of  a  world's  redemp- 
tion. She  was  reading  her  Bible,  alternately  with  the  resplendent 
leaf  Nature  unfurled  this  autumnal  Sabbath,  when  a  step  dis- 
pelled her  trance. 

«  Good  morning  1"  said  Mr.  Lacy.  "  You  are  an  early  riser." 

"  There  is  my  reward  I"  pointing  to  the  scene  without. 

"  May  I  participate,  in  virtue  of  my  second-best  claim  ?"  asked 
he,  with  his  own  beaming  smile,  seating  himself  before  she 
assented.  Ida's  trifling  embarrassment  was  transient.  His  beha- 
viour, open  and  free,  as  of  old,  had  not  a  tincture  of  reserve,  or 
significance  to  indicate  that  he  thought  of  their  new  relation. 
The  beauty  of  our  lower  sanctuary ;  the  upper,  which  it  dimly 
shadows  forth;  Annie's  sickness  and  death;  the  Christian's 
work  and  hopes — were  the  matter  of  their  conversation ;  and  as 
the  rest  assembled,  they  were  spared  the  disagreeable  sensation 
one  feels  at  interrupting  a  tete-a-tete. 

"  Is  it  time  to  ring  the  prayer-bell,  Ida  ?"  asked  Emma,  as  the 
last  loiterer  came  in. 

"  I  think  so.  We  breakfast  early  on  Sunday  mornings,  that 
we  may  be  at  school  in  season,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Dana. 

It  was  her  practice  to  lead  in  family  worship,  night  and  morn- 
ing. Arthur  had  performed  this  oflice  the  evening  before,  and 
the  servants  having  collected  in  the  hall,  she  motioned  him  to 
the  stand,  where  lay  the  Bible. 

« I  am  hoarse,"  he  said.     «  Lacy  I" 

The  person  addressed  reddened  slightly,  but  conquering  him 
self  instantly,  did  as  he  was  requested ;  and  Ida,  too,  although 
not  so  easily,  lost  the  identity  of  the  man  in  the  reader,  and 
was  prepared  to  join,  with  solemnity  and  fervor  of  spirit,  in  hia 
prayer. 

By  Charley's  contrivance,  they  rode  to  church  in  the  light 


ALONE.  soy 

buggy.  Ida  condemned  herself  for  the  feeling  of  disappointment 
that  fell  suddenly  upon  her,  as  the  school-house  appeared;  and 
more  for  the  fancies  which  strayed — starry-winged  butterflies 
into  the  machinery  of  her  morning's  duties;  but  her  pupils  were 
unconscious  of  the  visitants. 

"  Is  that  your  regular  pastor  ?"  inquired  Mr.'  Lacy,  as  they 
were  driving  back. 

"  //--regular,  rather — if  you  speak  of  the  seasons  of  his  minis- 
trations. Presiding  over  three — I  am  not  certain  it  is  not  four 
congregations,  he  preaches  for  us  once  a  month/' 

«  Who  officiates  the  three  other  Sabbaths  ?" 

"  Sometimes  the  pastor  of  the  Hill-side  church.  The  second 
Sabbath  is  his  day  in  course ;  but  he  lives  twelve  miles  off.  If 
he  is  among  the  missing,  we  catch  up  a  circuit-rider,  or  go  ser- 
monless." 

"  e  These  things  ought  not  so  to  be.' " 

"I  know  it — but  they  are!  Who  is  to  remedy  them?  Palm- 
branch  is  a  free  church." 

"  And  as  often  free  of  preachers,  as  of  sectarianism,  it  seems/' 
said  he. 

"  More  frequently.  The  war  of  polemic  debate  is  waged  as 
furiously  there,  as  if  the  controversialists  owned  pulpit,  pews 
and  people.  The  number  of  communicants  of  our  persuasion, 
in  this  neighborhood,  is  small ;  yet  they  are  mostly  persons  in 
good  circumstances,  and  able  to  have  a  church  of  their  own,  if 
they  would  think  so." 

"They  should  purchase  this  Palm-branch.  There  is  more 
euphony  than  meaning  in  that  name,  when  applied  to  a  house." 

"  A  free  church,  especially,"  answered  Ida.  »  However,  our 
Sabbath-school  has  vanquished  its  enemies,  and  may  lead  the 
church  on  to  victory." 

"  Dr.  Hall  awards  the  merits  of  this  enterprise  to  you.  Has 
your  residence  here  enlarged  or  contracted  your  sphere  of  useful- 
ness ?" 

"  Enlarged  it.  Not  that  this  would  be  the  case  with  most 
people.  The  city  presents  more  facilities  for  benevolence  gene- 
rally; but  my  family  had  influence  here;  and  my  servant* 
wanted  a  manager.  There  are  more  deprivations  than  I  antici- 


370  ALONE. 

pa  ted;  the  separation  from  my  friends;  want  of  general  society; 
the  dearth  of  books  and  intellectual  recreations ;  and  last  and 
worst — abridgement  of  my  church  privileges.  Still  I  do  not 
repent  my  removal.  My  happiest  days  have  been  my  Sunny- 
bank  life." 

"  Because  you  are  in  your  right  orbit.  The  evils  you  recount 
are  not  irremediable ;  we  will  discuss  them  at  length,  some  day." 

This  was  the  only  reference  to  the  future,  as  theirs — into 
which  he  was  betrayed  all  day ;  but  it  struck  Ida  dumb.  She 
recovered  her  speech  by  evening;  for  she  and  Charley  strolled  in 
the  garden,  in  close  converse,  until  Mr.  Dana  sent  Morton  to 
warn  them  of  the  night  dew.  He  perceived,  as  did  the  whole 
party,  traces  of  emotion  in  her  countenance;  and  Charley  was 
very  grave,  although  not  melancholy.  Music  was  proposed 
after  tea ;  and  Ida  unlocked  the  parlor  organ,  a  gift  to  Mrs. 
Ross  from  her  husband,  and  still  a  fine  instrument.  Emma 
blushed  so  deeply  at  her  nomination  as  organist,  that  Ida  recalled 
the  motion  and  occupied  her  accustomed  place.  Her  fingers 
wandered;  and  Mr.  Lacy,  bending  over  to  adjust  the  book,  said 
softly,  "  Do  not  attempt  to  play,  if  you  are  indisposed."  She 
smiled.  "  I  am  only  weak  and  silly ;  I  shall  be  better  directly." 
And  ere  the  first  hymn  was  concluded  her  clear  voice  led  the 
choristers,  and  the  pealing  chords  rolled  out  in  full  strength  and 
harmdny. 

The  bell  rang  for  prayers.  Arthur  glanced  at  Ida,  and  was 
arrested  in  the  act  of  rising,  by  seeing  her  wheel  a  chair  to  the 
stand,  and  beckon  to  Charley.  Yet  more  astounded  were  all 
that  he  took  it.  Unclasping  the  Bible,  he  read  distinctly  and 
reverently,  a  portion  of  its  sacred  contents ;  and  they  knelt  with 
him  at  the  mercy-seat.  A  stifled  sob,  and  more  than  one  sigh 
from  surcharged  bosoms,  responded  to  his  petitions;  and  Carry 
wept  aloud  at  the  «  Amen."  Arthur  was  equally  moved.  <'  God 
bless  you,  Charley  !"  was  all  he  could  say,  as  he  wrung  his  hand. 

"He  has  blessed  him,  and  us,"  said  Morton,  joyfully.  "  I 
thought  this  would  be  the  end  of  it,  my  good  friend  I" 

"Not  the  end — the  beginning  !"  said  Ida,  who  stood  by  her 
adopted  brother.  "  Only  the  beginning  !  is  it  not,  Charley  ?" 

"  You  were  the  beginning!"  said  he,  smiling.     "My  mind 


ALONE.  371 

has  been  made  up  for  some  time ;  but  it  was  proper  that  she 
should  be  the  first  apprised  of  it.  I  was  stubborn  and  rebellious; 
and  the  consistent  practice  of  one  private  Christian  did  more  to 
convict  me  than  the  preaching  of  the  entire  apostolic  succession 
— Saints  Paul  and  Peter  to  head  them — could  have  done." 

"0,  Charley!  you  are  Charley  still:!"  laughed  Carry. 

"  And  always  will  be,  I  hope  ! "  rejoined  Morton.  "  Religion, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Dana,  does  not  malte  but  mend,  the  dispositon." 


372  ALONE 


CHAPTER     XXXII. 

YES  I  «  Charley  was  Charley  still !"  The  brothers  were  walk- 
ing  the  piazza,  Monday  morning ;  and  John's  smile  and 
Arthur's  laugh  applauded  the  quaint  humor  which  came  from 
his  lips,  as  freely  as  respiration  of  the  air  his  lungs  had  inhaled. 
He  was  a  consummate  actor;  and  his  self-command  balked  the 
sharpest  scrutiny  when  he  chose;  but  his  spirits,  this  morning, 
were  not  feigned.  Mrs.  Dana,  Emma  and  Laura  made  their 
appearance,  and  at  length,  Charley's  flow  of  talk  could  no 
longer  delay  the  inquiry  "  Where  are  Ida  and  Mr.  Lacy  ?" 

"  <  Brushing  the  dew  upon  the  upland  lawn.' "  said  Charley. 
"  Gone  to  ride." 

"  When  did  they  start  ?"  asked  John. 

11  Just  as  you  shut  your  eyes  for  a  second  nap — luxurious 
citizen  that  you  are.  <•  When  will  they  return  ?' — query  the 
second. — You  will  see  them  on  the  top  of  that  hill  in  a  minute." 

They  cantered  down  the  avenue  in  gallant  style.  Ida  was 
an  expert  rider  ;  and  her  escort  appeared  to  as  much  advantage 
on  horseback  as  on  foot. 

"  A  handsome  couple !"  said  Arthur. 

Charley  made  no  reply.  "  You  do  your  teacher  justice,"  he 
said,  as  Ida  leaped  to  the  ground,  barely  touching  Mr.  Lacy's 
hand. 

"  And  more  could  not  be  said  for  master  or  pupil  •/'  she 
answered,  saucily. 

"  Morning  rides  are  wonderful  cosmetics !"  he  whispered,  ful- 
lowing  her  into  the  hall.  She  snapped  her  whip  at  him,  but 
those  mischievous  eyes  were  too  searching,  and  she  ran  off  "  to 
change  her  dress." 

"I  am  for  a  walk  to  the  river.  Who  accompanies  me?"  said 
John  Dana.  Ida  held  the  taper  at  which  he  was  kindling 
a  cigar — his  invariable  after-breakfast  luxury — and  the  flame 
was  paled  by  her  vivid  glow,  as  Mr.  Lacy  said  quietly,  "  I  will, 
sir,  with  pleasure." 


ALONE.  373 

In  an  Lour  they  returned,  and  the  summons — "Mr.  Dana's 
respects,  and  if  you  please  ma'am,  he  wants  the  pleasure  of 
your  company  in  the  drawing-room,"  robbed  her  of  the  last 
spark  of  self-possession.  She  stopped  at  the  door,  to  muster 
courage ;  but  her  guardian  had  heard  her  step,  and  opened  it 
from  within.  "  I  have  no  lecture  for  you,"  he  said,  passing 
his  arm  assuringly  around  her.  "  This  is  an  event,  we  fathers 
have  to  bear,  as  best  we  may.  I  am  fortunate  that  your  choice 
has  my  unqualified  sanction.  You  have  acted  wisely,  nobly,  my 
daughter." 

"Dear  Mr.  Dana !  I  feared  you  would  think  me  uncommuni- 
cative ;  but  I  did  not  know  it  myself  until  within  a  day  or  two." 

"  I  am  advised  of  the  incidents  of  your  drama.  Never  try 
to  convince  me  again,  that  you  are  an  unromantic  young  lady  ! 
What  is  your  evidence,  Mr.  Lacy  ?" 

She  had  not  seen,  until  this  speech,  that  he  was  present.  She 
bestowed  one  look  upon  him,  and  the  magnetic  charm  of  his 
smile  equallized  her  nerves  and  thoughts.  Mr.  Dana  would 
have  left  the  room,  but  Morton  stayed  him.  In  succinct  and 
manly  terms,  he  thanked  him  for  the  expression  of  an  esteem, 
it  should  be  the  study  of  his  life  to  merit.  «  I  am  aware,  sir, 
that  it  is  arrant  boldness  to  ask  more  from  your  kindness ;  but 
you  engaged  to  intercede  for  me  in  another  suit."  Ida  looked 
up,  hurriedly.  The  gentlemen  smiled;  and  Mr.  Lacy  whispered 
a  sentence  in  her  ear. 

"  Oh  no !  no  I"  she  ejaculated,  "  too  soon  I" 

"  Why  <  too  soon?' "  It  was  John  Dana,  who  drew  her  away 
from  her  lover,  and  pushed  back  the  shadowing  curls  from  her 
forehead.  "  Think  of  Mr.  Lacy  and  myself  as  old  friends,  and 
speak  out  the  language  of  your  own  warm  heart.  Why  '  too 
soon,'  Ida  ?  Don't  you  know  him  well,  enough  ?" 

Another  glance  was  the  signal  for  another  smile. 

"  Will  you  ever  know  him  better  ?"  asked  Mr.  Lacy. 

« I  think  not,"  she  replied. 

"  You  don't  like  him  well  enough,  then  ?"  pursued  Mr.  Dana. 

The  curls  drooped  over  her  face,  and  she  was  mute. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  like  the  idea  of  resigning  your  freedom   \ 
i lie  very  day  you  gain  it?" 

32 


374    •  ALONE. 

"  No,  Mr.  Dana  !  you  know  that  is  not  it." 

"What  then?"  Mr.  Lacy  secured  her  disengaged  hand. 
"If  this  proposal  distresses  you,  Ida,  I  revoke  it  without  a 
murmur,  and  will  abide  your  convenience,  or  inclination  pati- 
ently ;  but  if  it  is  a  question  of  expediency,  you  cannot  suppose 
that  Mr.  Dana  or  myself  would  urge  a  measure,  we  were  not 
assured  was  reasonable  and  proper.  Your  dearest  friends  are 
with  you — what  renders  delay  necessary  or  advisable  V' 

"But  what  will  they  say?" 

tl  An  odd  inquiry  from  you  !  What  potent  <  they '  do  you 
mean  1" 

«  Carry — Arthur — Mrs.  Dana — Charley — all  of  them." 

"Charley  has  been  my  abettor  from  the  beginning.  From 
him  I  learned  your  locality ;  and  he  warranted  me  a  friendly 
reception,  if  nothing  more.  I  should  not  have  had  the  confi- 
dence to  propose  this  immediate  union,  if  he  had  not  favored 
jiy  ardent  wish.  You  trust  in  his  judgment  in  other  matters — 
why  not  now  ?  As  for  the  rest  of  those  you  name — when  did 
they  oppose  anything  you  advocated?" 

"  But  your  friends — your  mother  ?" 

"  Is  prepared  to  love  you  as  a  daughter." 

"  She  wishes  me  to  decide,  I  see  ;"  said  John,  dictatorially. 
"  Therefore,  silencing  all  disputes — the  fatted  calf  is  slain — the 
neighbors  are  bidden — and  I,  as  this  perverse  maiden's  lawful 
guardian — setting  my  face,  like  a  flint,  against  wasteful 
improvidence — decree  an  occasion  for  the  feast,  instead  of  a  feast 
for  the  occasion ;  and  as  this  must  be,  the  sooner  we  are  rid  of 
the  trouble  the  better.  Not  a  syllable,  Miss  Ross!  you  are 
still  a  minor ;  and  I  will  indict  you  for  insubordination,  if  you 
are  refractory.  I  am  going  to  tell  Jenny  to  air  my  white  vest 
for  to-morrow  evening." 

Emma,  Laura  and  Carry  were  in  Mrs.  Dana's  apartment ;  and 
when  the  clamour  of  amazement  lulled,  not  a  hand  was  raised 
in  the  negative. 

"She  deserves  the  best  husband  that  can  be  given  her;"  said 
Carry,  "  and  from  my  knowledge  of  Mr.  Lacy's  character,  1 
expect  he  is  almost  good  enough  for  her." 

"  He  would  have  been  my  choice  from  among  all  the  gentle 


ALONE.  375 

men  of  my  acquaintance/'  answered  Mrs.  Dana,  « as  she  and 
Charley  will  not  make  a  match." 

"  Ah,  Jenny  !  did  I  not  say  you  would  have  to  abandon  that 
air  castle  ?"  said  her  husband.  "  It  was  the  only  essay  at 
match-making  I  ever  caught  you  at." 

"What  is  it,  Laura?"  inquired  Carry,  as  her  face  bright- 
ened suddenly. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  strange  we  should  have  decorated  the 
drawing-room  with  white  roses,  when  we  were  not  expecting 
a  wedding  I" 

The  news  spread  like  wild-fire  over  the  plantation.  "  Young 
Mistis  was  gwine  to  be  married  I"  and  never  did  tidings  of  a 
splendid  victory  produce  a  grander  jubilee.  The  Grants,  Miss 
Betsey,  and  Will,  as  sub-steward,  had  the  programme  of  the 
performances  and  actors ;  but  with  the  crowd,  the  Lacy  and 
Dana  factions  ran  high,  to  the  amusement  of  the  wise.  Aunt 
Judy's  climax  was  reported  at  the  dinner-table  by  Miss  Betsey, 
who  must  have  shared  in  the  general  delirium  of  pleasure,  as 
this  is  the  only  authentic  record  of  her  ever  having  spoken  in 
"company,"  unless  "spoken  to." 

"  (  Well!'  says  Aunt  Judy — says  she — <Dany  or  Lacy — they's 
both  mighty  fine,  pretty-spoken  gentlemen.  Either  on  'em  '11 
do ;  but  it's  been  a-runnin'  in  my  head  what  a  mussiful  Provi- 
dence 'tis,  hur  husband  happened  along,  jes'  when  the  cake  riz 
nicer  than  any  Fse  made  since  ole  Marster's  weddin !  And 
young  Mis'  too- — poor,  lone,  sweet  cretur !  ah,  chillen  !  things  is 
ordered  wonderful !  wonderful !'  " 

"Don't  blush,  Ida  !  laughing  suits  the  occasion  better,"  said 
Carry,  as  every  mouth  spread  at  this  apropos  anecdote ;  and  she 
did  laugh  merrily,  as  well  as  Mr.  Lacy,  who  had  tried  to  control 
his  risibles  until  he  heard  her. 

Ellen  Morris  arrived  that  night,  attended  by 'her  brother,  and 
at  a  feminine  council,  which  sat  until  midnight,  in  the  room  of 
the  bride-elect,  a  list  of  attendants  was  drawn  up — Emma  and 
Charley,  Laura  and  Mr.  Latham,  Ellen  and  Mr.  Thornton,  who, 
she  said,  was  certainly  coming  next  day, — and  Miss  Kingston, 
v>ne  of  the  neighbors,  with  Robert  Morris. 

"  Aunt  Judy  may  well  say,  '  things  is  ordered  wonderful !'  " 


376  ALONE. 

said  Emma.  "Who  thought  of  this,  a  week  ago?  and  here 
everything  is  arranged,  as  if  expressly  for  a  marriage.  '  Not  a 
screw  loose  or  lacking  !'  " 

"  Ida  will  say  it  is  a  'special  Providence/"  said  Mrs.  Dana, 
"  but  Mr.  Lacy  and  Charley  had  a  hand  in  it." 

"  Who  moved  them  ?"  asked  Ida.  "  Depend  upon  it,  my 
theory  is  irrefutable,  because  true.  If  a  delusion,  it  is  harm- 
less and  pleasant." 

"You  would  make  puppets  of  us;"  said  Ellen.  "Chessmen — 
irresponsible  for  their  motions." 

"  No,  indeed  !  We  are  children,  obeying  a  Father's  orders, 
no  matter  how  enigmatical ;  and  having  done  our  part,  letting 
Him  work  out  the  answer  to  the  puzzle.  A  so-called  ignorant 
woman  once  furnished  the  best  definition  of  Faith  I  ever  heard ; 
— '  taking  the  Lord  at  his  word.'  It  is  safer  to  believe,  than 
to  argue,  Ellen." 

Aunt  Judy's  aphorism  was  bandied  about  on  Tuesday  until 
it  was  hacknied.  Ida  feared  the  appearance  of  her  "Bubly 
Jock;"  but  her  prime  counsellor,  Will,  his  stalwart  arms  bared 
to  the  shoulder,  to  turn  an  ice-cream  churn,  said  confidently,  that 
"  she  nor  Miss  Laura  should  be  pestered  with  him  that  evening. 
I've  got  his  written  bond  to  stay  at  home,  and  eat  the  supper 
that  will  be  sent  to  him.  Mars'  Charley  and  Mr.  Lacy's  been 
to  see  him  too.  They  came  while  I  was  there,  ( on  a  sociable 
visit,'  they  said,  but  before  they  went  away,  he  was  crying  like 
a  child — they  talked  so  beautiful !" 

The  bridal  paraphernalia  was  laid  in  array,  and  Emma  and 
Laura  tying  up  bouquets ;  Ida  directing,  but  not  permitted  to 
assist. 

"  Ellen  cannot  find  that  arbor-vitse  surely !"  said  Emma.  "  I 
wish  she  had  let  me  go  !" 

Ellen  burst  into  the  room,  and  flinging  herself  into  a  chair, 
laughed  immoderately.  "  What  has  happened  ?"  cried  a  trio  of 
voices. 

"  The  wheel  of  luck  has  turned  !  It  is  a  '  wonderful  ordering' 
that  brings  Josephine  Read  upon  this,  of  all  days  in  the  year  I" 

"  Josephine  I"  Ida  seemed  to  behold  a  ghoul.  She  had 
invited  her  because  propriety  demanded  she  should  not  slight 


ALONE.  377 

the  daughter  of  her  former  guardian,  after  living  in  the  house 
with  her  six  years  j  then  sho  was  fond  of  Anna  Talbot,  and  a 
separate  invitation  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  The  possibility  of 
her  coming  had  not  entered  her  mind.  How  could  she  present 
herself  at  the  door  of  her,  whom  she  had  denounced  as  her 
mortal  foe  ?  Emma  stood  aghast,  and  Laura  in  bewilderment,  at 
the  dismay  depicted  in  the  faces  of  her  friends. 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,  Ida,"  continued  Ellen ;  "  and  if  I  were 
a  magician,  would  whisk  her  off  to  Guinea  in  the  time  it  would 
take  me  to  say  '  Presto  !'  but  if  you  did  not  feel  so  badly,  I 
would  delight  in  her  spiteful  rage,  when  she  knows  that  she 
has  come  to  your  wedding — and  with  Mr.  Lacy  !  Oh !  it  is 
transporting  I" 

"  Worse  and  worse  !"  said  Ida,  sorrowfully.  "  Unkind  as  she 
has  been,  I  would  not  wound  her ;  and  she  will  never  be  per- 
suaded that  the  insult  was  unpremeditated." 

"  '  Insult !'  forsooth  !  who  is  insulted,  pray,  but  yourself,  by 
the  intrusion  of  a  woman,  who  has  reviled  and  backbitten  you, 
until  the  town  cried  out  against  her  evil  tongue !  Oh  !  the 
shamelessness  of  a  wicked  gossip  I" 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  questioned  Ida. 

"  In  the  north  chamber.  Anna  Talbot,  Messrs.  Thornton  and 
Villet  came  with  her." 

"  Charley  said  he  asked  them — and  I  am  glad  Anna  is  here — 
but  oh  !  Josephine  !  and  I  am  en  dishabille !  Emma,  will  you 
run  up  to  them  ?  you  are  at  home." 

"Willingly."  The  kind-hearted  girl  emptied  her  lap  of  the 
flowers. 

"  And  explain  everything,"  said  Ida. 

"  Yes — make  all  right !  Comfort  yourself ;"  and  away 
she  flew. 

Her  face,  upon  her  re-entrance,  boded  well  for  Ida's  hopes. 

"  What  did  she  say  ?"  inquired  the  latter,  anxiously. 

"  They  were  unpacking  their  trunks.     Anna  was  very  cordial 
— so  was  Josephine — for  her.      <  We  concluded  yesterday,  to 
come  up,'  said  Anna.     <  Pa  made  a  point  of  it,  and  Ida's  letter 
was  so  kind  and  polite,  that  we  finally  determined  to  accept.' 
32* 


378  ALONE. 

"  '  And  Mr.  Thornton  and  M.  Villet  were  so  desirous  to  have 
some  Richmond  girls  here  ;'  said  Josephine." 

"Aha!"  interrupted  Ellen. 

Emma  continued.  "  Anna  did  not  notice  her  remark.  <  The 
maid  tells  me  Ida  is  to  be  married ;'  she  said,  eagerly.  '  What  a 
trick  she  has  played  us  !'  <  The  queerest  part  of  the  story  is,  that 
she  is  more  surprised  than  any  body  else,'  I  answered — '  They 
have  not  been  engaged  a  week !  You  know  the  groom?' " 

«  <  0  yes  !  he  is  a  noble  fellow  !  I  am  rejoiced  she  is  to 
marry  him  at  last.'  " 

"And  what  did  Josephine  say  to  this?''  asked  the  inquisitive 
Ellen.  "You  need  not  pretend  you  have  told  us  all." 

"  Oh  !  nothing  of  consequence.  She  spoke  very  carelessly, — 
of  his  <  being  nothing  extra,'  and  <  she  is  welcome  to  him,'  with 
no  symptoms  of  unusual  malice." 

"  Maybe  she  does  not  care  now,  having  transferred  her  atten- 
tions to  Mr.  Thornton.  That  harp  will  hang  upon  the  willow, 
too,  or  my  name  is  not  Ellen  Morris !" 

A  note  was  handed  Ida. 

" '  Ossa  on  Pelion  piled  V  from  your  countenance,"  said  the 
volatile  bridesmaid. 

Ida  read  it  aloud.  "Villet  is  with  Thornton.  Will  your 
plans  undergo  any  alteration  in  consequence  ? 

"M.  L." 

"Josephine  is  the  loose  screw,  Emma  spoke  of.  I  would 
gladly  add  M.  Villet  and  Anna  to"  my  train — " 

«  Do  it,  and  let  her  fret !"  exclaimed  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  no  !"  said  Emma,  involuntarily. 

"  I  cannot  I"  said  Ida.  She  wrote  upon  the  reverse  of  the 
billet — "  Unless  you  object,  the  original  order  will  be  preserved." 

There  were- no  happier  beings  present  that  evening,  than  the 
acting  host  and  hostess,  and  Carry  and  Arthur. 

"I  had  resigned  myself  to  Ida's  perpetual  spinsterdom,"  said 
Carry  to  her  schoolmates.  "  She  rejected  several  good  offers  from 
no  apparent  cause  j  and  1  imagined  she  had  a  prejudice  against 
matrimony." 

"  She  was  very  indifferent  upon  the  subject ;"  said  Anna. 
"  She  was  a  mystery  to  many.  But  these  deathless  friendships 


ALONE.  379 

between  ladies  and  gentlemen,  are  always  suspicious,  and  I  pre- 
dicted how  this  one  would  end." 

"  Charley  is  delighted ;"  said  Carry. 

"  Is  that  surprising  ?"  asked  Josephine,  with  a  dash  of  irony. 

"  Hush  !     Here  they  are  !"  said  Anna. 

The  clergyman  stepped  into  the  centre  of  the  room.  The 
fourth  couple  entered  first. 

"  Only  six  attendants !"  whispered  Josephine,  as  Charley 
appeared  in  the  doorway.  A  freezing  night  shut  her  in  !  through 
it  she  saw  but  two  forms — a  princely  figure,  his  Antinous  head 
erect  in  proud  happiness — and  the  hated,  injured  rival,  to  whose 
house,  curiosity  and  vanity  had  tempted  her — the  bridal  veil 
falling  in  soft  wreaths  about  her ; — his  bride  !  his  wife !  for 
emulous  groups  flocked  around  them. 

"  Oh  !  how  could  you  deceive  me  so  ?"  cried  Anna,  catching 
Emma,  as  Charley  led  her  up.  "  Mr.  Dana !  we  thought  you 
were  the  bridegroom !  The  servant  said — '  Mars'  Charley  Dana  !' 
Didn't  she,  Josephine  ?" 

The  frozen  lips  thawed  into  a  stiff  "  Yes." 

"Ah !  how  foolish  in  me  to  forget  that  Molly  espoused  the 
<  Dana  cause !' "  said  Emma. 

"And  you  believed  the  mistress  would  imitate  the  maid's 
example,  Miss  Anna?"  returned  Charley.  "Are  you  inconsola- 
ble that  I  am  single  yet?" 

"  No  !  overjoyed  !  A  change  has  come  over  my  desperate 
spirit,  since  I -discovered  my  mistake.  Come  Josephine!  we 
must  congratulate  them." 

Josephine  was  immovable.     "  I  never  pay  congratulations." 

"  For  decency's  sake !"  Charley  heard  Anna  say,  angrily. 
"Don't  get  into  one  of  your  surly  humors  to-night!  Very 
well !  stay  where  you  are !"  and  she  walked  off  with  M.  Villet. 

"  That  sigh — what  is  its  interpretation  ?"  asked  Mr.  Lacy,  of 
Ida,  as  they  were  watching  and  enjoying  the  lively  company, 
which  had  none  of  the  stiffness  usual  to  weddings. 

"  Did  I  sigh  ?  it  was  in  thought — not  in  sadness,  then." 

"  So  I  hoped.     What  was  the  weighty  reflection  ?" 

"I  was  running  over  the  bridals  and  bridal-parties  I  have 
attended — each  marking  some  important  epoch  in  my  history. 


380  ALONE. 

At  Mrs.  Truman's — Ellen's  sister — I  met  Lynn,  and  gained  an 
insight  into  Charley's  character." 

"  Those  were  pleasant  data.     Carry's  was  next — was  it  not  ?" 

His  chosen  wife  though  she  was,  she  hung  her  head.  He 
had  to  bend  to  hear  the  faint  accents.  -"I  received  a  letter  from 
you  !" 

"You  may  forget  that.     Go  on." 

"  Mr.  Read  installed  his  new  wife,  and  Lelia  Arnold  was  her 
bridesmaid.  Must  I  forget  her  also  ?" 

"  As  I  do — yes  I"  an  unclouded  eye  answering  hers. 

"  Mrs.  Morris  had  a  party  in  honour  of  her  nephew's  mar- 
riage; and  a  series  of  events  succeeded,  which  occasioned  me 
vexation  and  trouble ;  but  I  was  not  the  principal  actor." 

"  And  the  secret  of  another,  you  are  not  empowered  to  reveal. 
Eight !  The  next  ?" 

"Is  this!" 

"  Out  of  three  of  the  five  you  have  mentioned,  disaster  and 
sorrow  have  arisen.  The  proportion  of  joy  in  this  woeful  life 
is  variously  estimated,  from  two-fifths  to  two-thirds.  So  we  do 
no  violence  to  natural  laws,  in  assuming  this  to  be  a  white  mile- 
stone." 


ALONE.  381 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

THE  stability  of  wedded  happiness  may  be  fairly  tested  in  six 
years ;  and  that  number  has  elapsed  since  the  wedding-eve  at 
Sunnybank  ; — a  month  or  two  more — for  hickory  logs  are 
heaped  upon  the  carved  andirons,  and  the  arrowy  blaze  sheds  a 
red  glare  upon  a  group  of  familiar  faces  : — Charley,  unaltered, 
save  that  the  benign  lustre  of  his  eye — formerly  seen  only  by 
his  best  friends,  has  become  habitual; — Morton  Lacy,  hand- 
somer in  the  prime  of  manhood  than  as  the  slender  student; 
and,  her  elbow  resting  on  his  knee,  sits  upon  a  low  divan,  his 
wife.  If  Time  has  dealt  leniently  with  the  others,  he  has  acted 
repentantly  towards  her.  She  is  younger,  in  face  and  manner, 
at  twenty-seven,  than  she  was  at  seventeen.  Her  husband's 
equal  in  many  respects,  and  treated  by  him  as  such — she  has 
never  endured  the  servile  subjugation  of  soul,  which  transforms 
intelligent  women  into  inane,  mindless  machines.  In  yielding  to 
his  superior  judgment,  when  in  contrariety  to  hers,  her  will  has 
parted  with  none  of  its  strength  in  the  bend  which  proved  its 
pliancy.  Submission  is  a  pleasure,  not  a  cross. 

"  I  read  to-day  of  a  Mr.  Latham,  called  to  the street 

Church,  Baltimore,"  says  Charley.  "  Is  it  Emma's  husband  ?" 

«  The  identical  personage  !"  replies  Ida,  with  pride.  "A  high 
compliment  to  so  young  a  preacher  !" 

"  He  is  a  man  of  superior  talents,"  pronounces  Mr.  Lacy ; 
"  a  divine  of  Ida's  making." 

"  Of  Mr.  Lacy's,  you  mean — and  maybe,  after  all,  the  Sab- 
bath-school is  entitled  to  the  honour  of  teaching  him  that  the 
healing  of  men's  souls,  not  their  bodies,  was  his  vocation.  Dr. 
Hall  and  I  had  a  pitched  battle  whenever  we  met,  over  our 
interference  with  his  pupil,  until  his  trial-sermon,  which  was 
delivered  in  our  church.  The  Doctor  strode  across  the  aisle,  at 
the  close  of  the  services,  wiping  his  eyes.  1 1  forgive  you, 
madam,  and  that  meddling  husband  of  yours  !  My  stars  !  what 
a  parson  I  was  near  spoiling !'  " 


382  ALONE. 

"Does  Miss  Laura  meet  your  wishes,  as  Mrs.  Latham'- 


'•Entirely.  Mr.  Lacy  supports  her  authority,  or  the  stig-.-ii 
attached  to  her  father's  memory  would  weaken  her  influence. 
She  looks  sad  to-night.  It  is  the  third  anniversary  of  hi.s 
miserable  end." 

"  He  was  burnt  alive — was  he  not  1" 

"  It  is  supposed  so.  He  was  found  dead — his  body  partly 
consumed — upon  the  hearth  of  his  room.  Probably  he  fell  down 
in  a  drunken  fit.  The  blow  was  almost  too  great  for  Laura's 
reason.  Natural  affection  covered  the  remembrance  of  all  his 
faults.  The  children  were  taken  by  their  mother's  relations,  to 
whom  he  would  not  allow  them  to  go,  in  his  life-time.  Laura 
has  continued  with  us." 

"  Still  a  passion  for  proteges  !  The  last  time  I  saw  Miss 
Head,  she  inquired  what  your  newest  hobby  was." 

«  What  did  you  reply  ?"  inquires  Mr.  Lacy. 

"That  ladies  dismissed  hobbies,  when  they  were  provided 
with  'hubbies — '  an  execrable  play  upon  words,  which  she  may 
have  construed  into  an  ill-natured  fling  at  her  single-blessedness." 

"  She  ought  not.  On  dit  that  Ellen  Morris  has  supplanted 
me  in  your  bachelor  friendship ;  and  she  is  not  likely  to  marry." 

"  Any  more  than  myself — but  Ellen  Morris  is  not  Josephine 
Head.  Old  maids  are  a  much-abused  class  of  the  community ; 
I  trust  to  her  to  redeem  their  character,  but  Josephine  is  a  fright- 
ful counterpoise.  •  If  you  had  remained  single  I" 

« But  I  didn't !"  says  Ida,  smiling  archly  at  her  liege  lord. 
"And  you  two  have  only  yourselves  to  blame." 

"  And  Lelia  Arnold  I"  subjoins  Mr.  Lacy,  teasingly.  »  There 
is  another  enchanting  spinster,  Charley." 

Ida  is  grave. 

"You  observe  my  wife  nurses  her  jealousy  yet." 

"I  pity  her,  Morton  !  not  for  losing  you, — but  I  shall  always 
think  that  she  loved  Richard  Copeland  as  sincerely  as  it  was  in 
her  nature  to  do." 

"Why  dismiss  him,  then?"  queries  Charley. 

"She  had  the  credit  of  it.     In  my  opinion,  he  made  hci 


ALONE.  383 

discard  Mr.  Lacy  by  threats  or  blandishments;  then  punished 
her  perfidy  to  him  and  others  by  violating  his  engagement." 

"  An  unmanly  act — but  a  just  lesson !  He  is  marvellously 
improved  by  his  marriage.  Was  it  a  love-match  ?" 

"  I  believe  so.  Alice  is  a  lovely  girl ;  just  the  equable  tem- 
perament to  balance  his  flightiness.  What  a  contrast  to  his 
sister  I" 

«  Has  she  taken  the  veil  ?" 

"  Alas !  yes  !  She  wrote  to  me,  at  her  mother's  death,  that 
'  having  lost  both  parents,  and  her  brother's  marriage  making 
him  independent  of  her  cares,  she  should  devote  the  remnant  of 
her  sorrowful  days  to  prayer  and  expiation  of  her  sins — if  peni- 
tence and  mortification  could  atone.'  " 

"tf,  indeed!"  says  Mr.  Lacy,  "Yet  she  is  more  sinned 
against,  than  sinning.  Her  remorse,  much  as  it  misguides  her, 
is  more  creditable  than  her  step-daughter's  insensibility." 

(t  Poor  Josephine  I"  sighs  Tda. 

"  Why  *  poor  ?'  "  asks  Charley.  «  You,  of  all  people,  have 
least  cause  to  be  sorry  for  her." 

"  I  have  most,  because  I  know  her  best.  She  is  not  happy — 
never  was — and  never  will  be  unless  her  heart  is  changed.  I 
have  not  forgotten  the  misery  of  a  part  of  my  sojourn  with  her; 
yet  I  honestly  preferred  my  to  state  hers." 

"You  are  very  unlike." 

"Now,  perhaps — and  I  thought  we  were  then;  but  my 
mother's  training  was  all  that  saved  my  disposition  from  adapt- 
ing itself  to  Mr.  Read's  mould.  She  had  no  talisman.  I  wish 
she  had  a  hundredth  part  of  my  happiness.  A  woman  is  so 
lonely  without  a  home  and  friends  !  They  are  to  us — I  do  not 
say  to  you — necessaries  of  life." 

"She  can  gain  them,"  replies  Morton.     "You  did." 

"  To  be  taught  the  inadequacy  of  perishable  things  to  satisfy 
a  soul  which  must  live  forever !"  muses  Ida,  gazing  into  the 
blaze.  « I  can  apply  literally  that  text — <  Seek  ye  first  the  king- 
dom of  God,  and  Hia  righteousness ;  and  all  these  things  shall 
be  added  unto  you.'  " 

"  There  are  not  many  who  can,  in  a  temporal  sense,"  says 
Charley. 


384  ALONE. 

"But  who  may  not,  spiritually?  Why  will  men  make  a 
comfortless,  doleful  mystery  of  our  cheerful,  life-giving,  home 
Faith  ?  Why  not  think,  write,  talk  of  it  ? — " 

«  And  act  it  ?"  interrupts  Charley. 


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